February Song
by CuriosityID
Summary: Batman told him to get out. And so he did. My take on the Stray!Tim AU. Title taken from "February Song" by Josh Groban. If you like, please R&R!
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: So I'm just kind of telling the story of Stray in this fic, and I just want to say THIS IS VERY AU. I know the real stories, I read a lot of comics, but since it is AU (and maybe I've gotten in some other inaccuracies?) please don't hate me! Also, I have another fic "That's the Way It Is" which I wrote for fun and it kind of inspired me to keep on going and do a Stray story. So this is more of an elaboration on that one. Anways, reviews just make my life so if you like it, please review! 3 3**

He dared to look back at Batman's eyes and say, "No."

Such a small and simple word and it made the muscles in his adoptive father's jaw work, his gloved fist to clench harder to something that wasn't even attainable.

The dark of the cave closes in on Tim. As if his heart wasn't heavy enough, now the walls will come closer and closer. Something like he saw in a movie once only now it was the glare Batman gave him. Hard. Unyielding.

Tim doesn't know why he's using the vigilante name in his head. It's not even... _Bruce_ anymore. It's a shadow and a stranger.

"You believed in me," the stranger growls now, turning away from the computer screen. Tim swallows, feels the pump of adrenaline in his neck. "You believed I was still alive."

Yes.

"You truly believed I was out there," Batman steps closer and then he shouts it, the hideous sound reverberating across every water-gleamed rock in the cave, "Why don't you believe it for Damian?!"

Tim's eyes instinctively close, as if he's refusing the image of Batman screaming at Red Robin to enter his head, to capture itself but it's too late. There's sweat gathering on the back of his neck, trickling down his back, escaping the cloth of his suit.

The wings are heavy.

And Batman straightens and his eyes narrow. "...you don't _want_ to believe it."

Tim looks back up at him, stops breathing.

 _You hated him._

I screamed his name until I lost my voice.

 _You told him he wasn't your brother._

I saw him in my dreams.

"N-no," Red Robin gasps out, "no that's not true, it's just that-"

"What, Tim?!"

The shout keeps on playing itself in Tim's mind, and his hands rush to his hair, pull and tangle irrationally. The words are aching to get out and before Tim's logic can arrest them, they all come racing and unfair.

"It's that I could barely live without you!" he shouts back. "And you can't - _won't -_ live without him and I… I can't lose you again!"

It's empty and almost unheard because Batman's eyes stare right through him. Tim tries to make amends by whispering, "I've lost too much already."

"So you can't stand to see this," Batman replies with a hiss. "You're running away from him. From me. Just like the rest."

"Bruce-" a plea for the real Batman to come back.

"Then get out!" Batman cries, throwing a hard arm pointing to the cave staircase, eyes flaring and teeth gnashed like a monster, a demon of city lights. " _Get out._ "

Tim shivers but the sweat is still building. Batman turns with the whirl of his cape back to the computer where there are files, evidences that he's been compiling. They say there's still a chance, there's still a way to find...Robin.

So Tim turns, blindly walking away. He's got patrol tonight, he has work to do and a long night ahead. Focus point is on 42nd and Ninth, sounds like there might be a cartel to break up. Maybe more evidence from the incident a few nights ago can be gathered.

And there's a whisper that drives Tim like a whip in the back of his mind: _Immerse yourself in your work and it won't hurt._

Isn't that what Batman - no – it was Bruce that time, had said? As _Bruce_ held him close, away from his father's dead body, whispered, "No, it won't go away, but you can focus on something else. You've _got_ to focus on something else."

It meant survival.

So Tim would always turn his eyes away from the devil under that Gotham sky and pretend it didn't exist and he'd mount his motorcycle and ride away into the dark just like tonight. He'd dance, oh yeah, he'd keep it up, but there was always that thought that maybe….just maybe there was another voice.

One that said _no._

But Bruce- Batman said so.

Orange streetlights and wet concrete and open garbage cans, half-drunk teenagers and cars driving by too slowly. Hot humid air rushing through Red Robin's wings, but harsh enough to penetrate the mask and make his eyes water.

It's just the effect of wind on the eyes. The eyes get dry and the lacrimal glands become active and tears wash over the eyes to moisturize them, it's perfectly natural. Nothing to worry about.

But there's no evidence tonight. 42nd is dead. Red Robin head over to Ninth, pressing the pull line too hard, wishing for his favorite part. The part when he and Batman stand on the pedestal and there's no edge to Batman's voice as he whispers, "Are you ready?"

 _No, Bruce, I'm not ready._

 _Just give me a moment._

 _I'll be ready._

 _Everything will be okay._

 _I'll figure it out for you._

Reminiscent of the boy in the old movie who whispered, _"What, do you want the moon? Just say the word and I'll throw a lasso around it and pull it down."_

Tim's eyes jerk toward the moon.

Ninth is dead too.

Red Robin stands on the roof and wishes for the good part.

There's wings on his back but they flap almost useless and brittle.

But he stops breathing. Stops moving. Stops wishing.

There's someone just behind him.

Tangible presence, too small enough to be Red Hood. But it's different and it reminds Tim of glaring eyes and perking smiles, hands getting too close and words becoming too sweet like fifteen different pieces of candy.

It's too easy to discern and Tim has lost any incentive to turn around and stand firm for battle. There doesn't have to be a battle. Maybe more of wits, but not of bo sticks and whips and electric wires.

So Tim keeps his eyes on the ground before him, eyes only drifting to watch a zooming car, a staggering stranger. But his ears are trained on the click of heels that can stab as easily as a knife.

"Hey, kitten," a slow even almost-whisper. "Don't step too close to the edge."

Distant care, just like a mother cat you can always crawl back to and she'll lick your wounds for you.

Tim's hand clenches up. He swallows. The wind is harsh on his eyes tonight, but if he blinks hard enough, it'll fade away.

He'll be fine.

"Hello, Catwoman."

 _You call that a way to address a thief and a criminal?!_

"Hm..." there are hands coming behind him, sliding down his arms, holding his own hands. "How're doing?"

"I'mfine." Automated, sure, but it's what needs to be heard.

"Well, I'm not so sure, because you know, all the world knows if Red Robin is flying without his Batman tonight. There's just something in the air. Like smelling MacDonald's when you walk outside." She laughs a little.

 _It's funny, Tim. Laugh._

Grease and burgers and just a few dollars, memories of that one time when Nightwing pulled up and ordered Robin a Happy Meal because he panicked, _"Tim, don't you eat, kid?!"_

"Kitten," a whisper in his ear, "where is your daddy?"

"Um, he's not out here tonight."

"Oh thanks, I didn't notice," Catwoman chuckles, her gloved hands rubbing up and down his arms.

Silence. Thunder rolls like Batman's narrowed eyes and quiet threats.

"Did he hurt you, Tim?"

Tim blinks. "Batman has _never_ hurt me."

"Oh, I know _that..._ he'd never touch a hair of your head. _"_ Catwoman carefully locks her hands on his shoulders, turning him around to face her. "Did he hurt you in any other way?"

Catwoman…. _Selina_ is taller than Tim. Her glasses rest on her hood, ruby lights glittering, a sweet ( _gentle, quiet, understanding)_ smile on her glossed lips. There are tufts of black hair flying out of her mask. Green eyes looking into him.

Hurt?

One time, Tim dislocated his shoulder on patrol. Though it popped right back in, his arm felt numb. It hurt later on.

Tim has heard stories of people losing limbs. They said it didn't hurt at first.

But there was blood and there were open wounds and there were bones loose and his hand shook.

Tim turns away from Catwoman's eyes and wonders what happened in the Cave, why he walked away without...hurt.

But now that he's staring at Selina's heels and finding his own boots turning in on each other and grating against pebbles…

...he can barely breathe.

He told him to get out, to run away from him, he accused him of not wanting Damian back. He shouted at him. His eyes burned into Tim's. And ever since the funeral, there's been silence, a turned back, zero radio contact, Batman speeding on ahead of Red Robin.

 _Does he believe I don't exist anymore?_

And no, Tim hasn't slept, he hasn't eaten, he doesn't want to, it's too much trouble. He's underwater but _no, stop breathing, you'll drown!_

Is this the way it's got to be all the time now?

 _Did I ever exist to him?_

Tim's mouth opens but no words come out.

Where does he even start?

So when Selina's hands slide up his shoulders, to his neck, to cup his face to turn his eyes back on her and she whispers, "Come stay with me," Tim doesn't think anymore.

"It's close by, just a little ways from here. Get away from that dusty old house. You need to get away from there, Timmy. Come away."

Tim catches his breath, but this suit is just too heavy to take any gasps.

"Come on, baby. Stay with Mama Selina."

Tim doesn't feel his feet shuffling, his hand latching on to hers. Only the constant _get out_ in his head, the black emptiness inside but there is red on the edges of his mind's eye, the kind he would see when he got shot.

Shot.

"I'm sorry," is all he can manage to shudder.

"There's nothing to be sorry about," she whispers back, coming to the opposite edge. "You got this?"

Grappling hook. Wire and trigger.

" _Check your line."_

"Timmy?"

" _Top speed. Straight in."_

"You got this, baby?"

Her voice is firmer this time, making Tim force himself to turn and nod. Check his line. Top speed, straight in.

He follows Selina through the alleys. They swing through the air and Tim notices the way she keeps on looking back at him. They land on the apartment complex roof, and she jumps down on her balcony. The wings are stupid. Clumsy. Awkward.

But Selina's apartment smells like perfume, candles and maybe paint, and as she flicks the lights on, Tim sees that it's very different from the other apartments she's had. Everything is simpler, smaller. There's wood floors, white Christmas lights strung from ceiling corner to corner. Color flares everywhere; blue and orange and green, greys and whites. Old movie posters. Stacks of CDs.

"Come on in, kitten," she beckons again, with a smile over her shoulder. She takes off her glasses, tosses them on the kitchen counter top. The apartment's small and so the single light above the tiny dining room fills the entire space. And Tim can only think of the word _home._

There's newspaper clippings, to-do lists on the refrigerator and cat magnets. The dorkiest little umbrella with a cat's head shaped handle rests near it.

Photos in frames of cats.

Tiny statues of cats.

And there's a cat lounging on the couch.

So many cats everywhere.

And there's another, a kitten just walking out the bedroom to say hello.

It's black and white. Like Damian's cat.

Tim exhales, keeps exhaling, refuses to gasp back.

Selina's voice, "I'm gonna go change, okay?"

"D-Dami had a cat like that." It came out of his mouth without him allowing it to, his hand gesturing tiredly toward the kitten. He gets down on his knees, wings scraping against the floor angrily, but his hands reach out to capture the kitten gently.

His fingers stroke against the kitten's head, finding that one spot just behind the ears that wins him a friend. Yeah, there's a white side, and the face is completely covered in black except for the gold eyes that open and close in relaxation. The kitten purrs like a machine.

"I...did you know I kind of wanted to name Dami's cat? At least...suggest a name?"

Click, click, Selina's heels coming toward him.

Air conditioner turning on.

Purring.

"I wanted to name him...Spock...but if I mentioned it, I knew that he'd never get named that."

He chuckles, but no, no, no, please, don't cry, but there's the world smearing around him and he's having trouble breathing again.

"Oh, no," there's a rock in his throat, and there's something crawling in his chest, threatening to strangle him, "Oh, I'm so sorry, I don't-"

"No, hey, it's okay," Selina says, getting on her knees before him, but Tim can barely see her. Just her voice, "Let it go, Tim. Don't keep it, let it all go."

 _No, no immerse yourself in your work don't let it go it will destroy you don't do this to yourself don't do this to Batman!_

"Let it go, baby."

And he drops his hands, the kitten scampers away at the sound of his wings scratching wildly, the sound of sobbing and almost screaming and Tim can feel again.

"There you go, Timmy."

 _No_ , as he feels gravity pulling him down, as he cries and struggles to get the ache out of his heart. But _yes_ as she pulls him into her arms, as her fingers pry the mask off. And _yes_ as it's all falling away, all the ache and the fear that has been gnawing at him since that monster destroyed _his brother._

And Bruce told him to get out.

And now Selina Kyle telling him to come out and to let it out.

Tim rests against Selina, trying to breathe again, but...relaxing. He feels every muscle lose its hold as Selina unhooks the stupid wings and pushes them away from him.

She smells like leather and lotion and wet concrete.

"Okay...you're doing just fine, kitten...you're just fine..."

"No, I'm not, I-"

"Shh, yes you are. Please, Timmy, don't be like Bruce. Don't keep it all inside like that, it'll kill you. And frankly, I like you way too much to let that happen."

 _Don't be like Bruce...no, I've spent all my life trying to be like him, how can I just stop now?_ Tim blinks, noting that Selina's suit is water resistant; the teardrops slip off easy. She's rocking him back and forth, like he's five.

"Hey," Selina whispers, "Listen to Mama Selina."

"'Kay," Tim whispers back.

"The other day I found some yoga pants."

And all the thought trains in Tim's head decide to slam the brakes.

"Yeah," she continues, "and they're guys yoga pants and they might be a bit big on you, but I've got pins. So how about you take that suit off and stuff it in a closet, any closet you like and you can push some furniture in front of it if you want. Take the yoga pants and take a shower."

 _Oh, wait, wait, Batman doesn't know where I am-_

"And I have the guest bedroom so you take that and get some rest, okay?"

 _But what if-_

"And name the kitten while you're at it," she stands up and takes his hands, helping him up. "And there's something else you need to know."

Tim looks up at her, lets the flicker of green in her eyes _comfort_ him, not scare him off. "M'what?"

"This is usually a girl's place. We don't have soldiers here. No soldiers are allowed here."

No. Soldiers.

"You just be Tim."

 _Who's that? What good is he? What-_

Then she tilts her head, smiles her one-sided sweet smile. Her hand strokes down his face and Tim leans against her touch. All those panicky questions...silent.

Her hand is cool and gentle. Tim's never felt her fingertips; they've always been covered by the sharp edges of her gloves. They're deft and perceptive, slow and careful.

"I'm afraid Spock wouldn't be a good name for that kitty," Selina murmurs, shaking her head. "She's a girl."

Tim finally smiles a little, closes his eyes, let's Selina's thumb stroke down his temple.

"Saavik, then."

Selina presses her forehead against his and chuckles. "Okay, you little geek, you."


	2. Chapter 2

November blue skies are late this morning. Sunlight peaks through the cold clouds and makes golden streaks across the floor, glinting off the balcony rails. Steam rises from concrete grounds below, creating the haze that cleans Gotham's air.

Selina walks out of her bedroom, clicking her tongue at Lilly Mae and Saavik ( _Saavik, what kind of name is that,_ she thinks) who follow her, awaiting their breakfast. Running her hands through her hair to straighten out the bed-head pixie cut, she pours the kibble into the pink bling-speckled bowls, whispers invitations to the cats, "Here you go, cuties." She pours coffee she had the machine make fifteen minutes previously on schedule, more than she usually makes. Tim is a coffee addict.

She takes a sip of the coffee and then looks all around, noting the events still left from last night: plates that held sandwiches and chips and salsa, blankets sprawling over the couch, Tim's iPhone on the countertop.

A prized possession, Tim's phone. Selina picks it up and notices the scratches on the back, slight chip in the top corner of the glass screen. Before turning in last night, she peeked into Tim's room, pulled the blankets closer around the boy. She frowned at the skin pulling tight against bones, the scars that tied him together, but felt a little more consoled by the slow even breathing. The limp hands. The stillness.

He was comfortable in the yoga pants, even if they were too long, and he did need a pin in the right side of the top seams. Selina smiles; she meant them for Bruce, thinking that he'd look cute in yoga pants.

Tim is cuter than her imagination.

She had leaned over him, and as her lips pressed against Tim's forehead, her hand closed over the iPhone, slipping it in her pajamas pocket. Whispered, "Sleep tight, kitten."

She had turned the phone off. Neither one of them needed any calls inquiring to Tim's location. What he was doing. Who he was with.

It wouldn't look good.

And Selina is having trouble trusting Bruce right now.

When an insecure teenager comes to your apartment and breaks at the sight of kitten, you've got to wonder what he faces on a regular basis. _Who_ he faces.

Selina shakes her head. Teenagers aren't supposed to have problems like that, they're not supposed to be wondering where to go when their adoptive dad tells them to leave. Oh yeah, Selina heard the whole story, worked it out of the boy over the sandwiches and salsa, deduced whatever else Tim only murmured about. She watched the way Tim devoured the sandwiches, like he hadn't eaten in days, like he felt like eating just now.

And thinking about it this morning, Selina decides to make pancakes.

They might as well splurge.

They deserve it.

Selina gets out the frying pans, finds some pancake mix at the bottom of her refrigerator, whips it all up, lets the cats lick her fingers after she tasted the batter. She separates a little of it, grips a handful of chocolate chips and throws them in, "Get out of my way, cat," as she almost burns one and Lilly Mae drags herself lazily away from the front of the stove. Selina can almost see magic rising with the glorious smells, wonders if another constellation will be added to the nighttime sky because of its power. "I've even got some jelly which is fantazmo on pancakes," she tells Saavik with the squeaky tone only reserved for kittens.

She ought to try the voice on Tim.

She heaps three, four (and a half) on Tim's plate, guesses she'll wake him up. Cuts two pieces of her own pancake and gives them Lilly Mae and Saavik.

And then the phone rings. Too loud, too shrill.

"Don't wake up Tim," she growls to the phone, jumping over the cats and rushing to pick it up. "Hello?" she hisses.

"Selina?"

Selina stiffens. "...Dickie?"

"Hey, do you have any idea where Tim is?"

 _Oh yeah, he's asleep and he's had the most sleep since he was probably knocked out by some thug in the streets, why do you care-_

"He hasn't been answering his phone," Dick sounds nervous, a fearful inflection in his voice that Selina hasn't heard in a while. "I've been trying to get him all night."

Selina works her jaw to one side and feels...dark. Like a storm cloud suddenly came and the wind is starting to pick up. "Where's Big Daddy?"

Dick doesn't answer right away, pondering the timing, the logistics of the question, Selina knows. He's been living under Batman's roof for long enough. "He's not….around."

"What's he up to?" Selina doesn't really have to ask, she knows he's obsessing over a new crusade to save the life of his very dead child. But she feels curious. Wonders if she can present a question into Dick's mind: _is Bruce caring about Tim's whereabouts any more than you are?_

It's like _Inception._

"He's-he's working on stuff, I guess- why do you care?!" Dick suddenly asks and Selina's eyebrows jerk up.

"Well if _he's_ concerned about Tim, then that means that it's more of an emergency than you think."

Bruce's definition of emergency has been changed, you know.

"Selina, do you know where Tim is?" Dick repeats, frustrated. He's dying to get off the phone.

"No," Selina replies firmly. "No, I don't know where he is."

There's rustling in the guest bedroom. A kitten stretching, flexing the developing claws, relaxing again.

"Okay," Dick says after a pause, softer this time. "Okay. Thanks, Selina."

"Anytime, Dick," Selina smiles.

Anytime at all.

She hangs up the phone and sighs.

Time to wake up Tim.

She picks up Tim's iPhone on the counter. Slips it back into her pocket.

She walks carefully into the bedroom, smiling when she sees the blankets all tangled up, the black hair spreading over the pillow, eyes still closed. Lilly Mae walks behind Selina, opting to get up on the bed and curling next to Tim's leg.

Selina sits on the bed and presses a hand to Tim's shoulder, careful of a new scar that is a little discolored. "Hey, Timmy, time to get up, sweetheart."

She leans over just like last night, and with a kiss on Tim's head, puts the phone to its former place. Tilted a little. Close to the lamp.

Tim frowns, taking a deep breath and his eyes open just slightly, unsure about so much light. The sun is pooling across the sheets. Vivid blue eyes coming to life, looking at her. "Hello," he murmurs. Sweetly, red flushing back into his face.

Shyness remembered, though forgotten last night.

"Hello yourself," Selina says softly. "I made you some breakfast, and you're gonna eat it. No questions asked."

Tim smiles, eyes closing again, fingers curling into the sheets. "Of course I am; everything smells like heaven."

"Dang right," Selina says, moving her hand down to his, giving a small squeeze. "Wakey-wakey."

"M'kay," Tim mutters, sitting up and combing his hair back with his fingers. He squints at the bright light and looks all around, as if he's trying to remember everything. His eyebrows tilt up in tinges of anxiety at the thought of the big manor far away. Slow frown appearing at the sight of the closet.

Maybe he'll consider pushing furniture in front it.

Selina stands up, glancing behind her as she walks out of the bedroom. Tim picks Lilly Mae up, holding her close to his chest, kissing the top of her velvet black head. His hand swipes the iPhone, thumb presses the home button.

Teenage instinct.

Selina walks to the kitchen, pours syrup over the pancakes, listens to Tim talking to the cat.

"Oh, no, did my battery run out overnight?" he asks Lilly Mae. Who must know.

And then Selina pauses.

She turned the phone off. And didn't turn it back on.

She didn't cover her tracks.

"Yay, we still have battery," Tim rejoices. Lilly Mae must be thrilled.

Tim walks slowly out of the bedroom, phone in one hand, cat in the other. Selina pours a glass of milk, smiles at the sight of stretchy yoga material pooling around Tim's ankles. He's so tiny, even his white t-shirt is a little loose.

"I don't remember turning my phone off last night," Tim says, sitting at the counter top, allowing Lilly Mae to walk over it. "I never do."

Selina grabs a fork and slides the plate over to him. "Eat up, kitten."

"It's weird," Tim mutters and as his hand closes over the fork, a new expression appears on his face; the one that comes when he's standing over an unconscious criminal, and new pieces of evidence start appearing, only visible to his eyes. He blinks slowly and grimaces only slightly. His mind is computing.

"Selina?"

"Yeah, baby?" Selina hates washing dishes, but it means her back will be toward Tim.

"Did...did you turn my phone off last night?"

Selina scrubs at the frying pan. Considers her options.

"I wanted you to sleep," she finally says, turning the faucet off, drying her hands with a dishtowel. "You were all worn out."

The glower leaves for a second, and Tim smiles a little. "Thanks," he says softly. "I think I needed it."

"I _know_ you needed it, Tim," Selina replies, coming towards him, hand moving closer to let her fingers slide down his. "You've had a hard week. Hard couple of months."

 _Hard life._

Tim swallows and slices the pancakes with the fork, perfect straight little slices. "But...but what if Bruce tried to call me? My phone doesn't record missed calls if it's off."

Selina watches him mix the jelly, turning pieces over and over, saturating the brown and pinkness. Thinks about the worry in Dick's voice.

"I...I don't think he called you, baby."

Tim's fork stops and he looks up at her. "No. No, he would. I was gone all night, he'd be expecting a report."

Lilly Mae comes back to Tim, lusting after his pancakes. Her tail strokes his arm. Tim glances at her and then back at Selina. "He'd be worried about me."

 _If he was himself, if he was in his right mind, yeah sure he'd be worried about you. He would go all over Gotham, combing every alley way, interrogating every suspect, beating the secretive ones until they let out everything they knew. If he was worried, there'd be a demon running around the streets, preying on anyone who would touch his son._

 _And instead, Dick called and said that Bruce "wasn't around."_

"Sweetie," Selina murmurs, testing the dark ocean that's Tim mind, "how about you go home today and check on your old man. And if...if things...haven't changed..."

That blue. His eyes are like the sky outside. Innocent and too big, confused and unable to face the winter.

Selina stares back at those eyes and realizes that Bruce's dark winter could just suck the life right out of them.

Freeze them to death.

"If things haven't changed, Tim, come back. You can stay with me for as long as you like. I love you...here."

She won't have that demon destroy him in the middle of the night.

Tim blinks. Nods slightly. "Okay," he breathes. "Okay."


	3. Chapter 3

Tim tries to stay out of the way. He only asks Selina to drop him off at a safe house, thanks her for...everything. And when he looks back at her, presses against the door frame, she smiles at him. Those green eyes are just reading him like a book, they're like no eyes that Tim has ever known.

They don't stop at the mask he's always wearing, at all the walls that he's thrown up. They suspect and find all the chinks in his armor. Peers into the dark within.

He has a hard time drawing his own eyes away.

"Call me." She says, eyes narrowing. She must see that he is nervous, feeling that doubt that has been eating at him all morning. "Let me know how you're feeling. You can always come back."

Her hand closes over his. "I'll be right here."

He feels empty as he watches Selina's black car drive away. He sighs, steam rising in the cold. He signs into the security, heads upstairs. The room, decked out in black and white, is relatively clean, but there's...a distinct smell of cologne.

Dick's cologne.

Jason's shaving cream though, he notes as he glances in the bathroom.

Tim tosses the backpack he borrowed from Selina onto the bed and gets a change of clothes, stuffes the pieces of his suit, covered by a jacket that he had been wearing into the backpack. He opts for Dick's sweater because it's the warmest thing in that closet and he...wants it. It smells like Dick, even feels like Dick, with the cable knit lines and its gray and worn out. Tim throws it on and then flops onto the bed, breathing in its scent in the sleeves.

What is he doing here? He should be home, he should have said, _Selina, take me home, Bruce is looking for me_. But he didn't. He came here because he wanted to think. He wanted a distance.

Why nobody even called Selina was beyond him, and Tim closes his eyes and bites his lip when the thought occurs: _what if it was as he had suspected all along?_

That Bruce really didn't care.

Or that Bruce was really, seriously angry.

Tim stares at the ceiling.

Why shouldn't he be? Tim had been enemies with Damian for a long time, had fought with him, even resented his presence in Bruce's life. Of course Bruce would suspect that Tim didn't want Damian back. It was logical.

It was logical if he didn't know how much Tim ached. How much he missed Damian. How his nightmares were all about him, how he blinked and there he was.

But there wasn't time. Bruce didn't know, and Tim hadn't told him, but maybe...just maybe…

Tim sits up a little, fishes around in his backpack for the phone ( _what if he didn't call last night?)_ and taps to his contacts.

Bruce Wayne (cell).

Tim breathes in Dick's sweater one more time for some reassurance. He holds the phone against his shoulder as he ties on his tennis shoes he left here some months ago. 20 seconds passes.

" _You have reached Bruce Wayne's number. Please leave your message at the tone."_

Bruce's voice is soft and professional, and when the beep sounds, Tim is silent. His mind is hung up on the voice. It's a little shocking. He hasn't heard it sound that way in a long time.

 _Top speed, straight in._

Tim swallows. "Hey, B, it's me, um. Tim."

Everything's gone. He doesn't know what else to say. Explain everything, no way, you can only record so much on voicemail.

"Uh, everything's okay. N-nothing much to report. Um...yeah. So."

So what?

"Bye."

Nothing to report.

He taps the red button as fast as he can, drops the phone on the bed like it burns. He rubs his hands on his jeans, trying to work the sweat out of them.

That's Bruce's phone, there's his name there, it would say Tim Wayne, it would be there. Bruce is never without his phone. It's protocol actually among the family, you never turn your phone off, you never turn the volume down, you never leave it.

It's too dangerous out here.

 _Bruce is nervous and out of control, that's all. I know how it is. I've been here before._

 _I know what it's like._

He needs to go home. Bruce needs him.

But does Bruce need him?

Does Bruce want him?

That's the more important question.

Tim keeps Dick's sweater. He slings the backpack over his shoulder, puts on a baseball cap he found in the closet. It'll cover him on his way home.

He catches a bus to Bristol County. He puts his earbuds in his ears and listens to enough noise to drown out his thoughts. He doesn't look at the people who are expecting a weekend, who are dying to get this day over and done. He ignores the cold seeping into the sweater.

His heart feels tired. But he stares straight ahead and gets off at his stop, walks down the sidewalk turning into the long driveway. His old house is way back there, behind that hulk of Gothic architecture. Wayne Manor is silent and only a few lights are visible from Tim's distance. There's no sound of Titus barking. No trembling of trees as they are sliced by old swords held by a boy no more than ten.

Tim turns his eyes away. But he notices that Dick's car is pulled up.

Tim heads to the door, but it opens before he can type in his security.

"Master Tim!" Alfred nearly cries, reaching out and pulling Tim in. "There you are! We've been looking for you all-"

"Tim," Dick comes around the corner of the foyer, catching Tim and pulling him close, _oh so close_ and pressing a hand to the back of his head. Tim buries his face in Dick's shoulder, breathes in that familiar cologne. Dick is shaking. "Tim, where have you been? You weren't on the radio last night. Why didn't you call?"

He pulls back just enough, to look into Tim's face, to brush his hair out of his eyes. "I've been calling everybody I know, even Jay for gosh's sakes."

"I'm okay," Tim responds but the moment it's out of his mouth, he knows it's the lamest thing he's ever said in his life.

"No, no," Dick shakes his head, keeping his arms locked around Tim, "Tell me where you've been."

"I've-" and Tim stops.

Does Selina want everybody to know?

Does... _Tim_ want everybody to know?

He thought that maybe Selina's house...Selina _herself..._ would be like a safehouse. She welcomed him with open arms and he disintegrated in front of her and she didn't judge him.

You don't just give away the location of your safe house.

"I've been with the Titans," he says. "Yeah, Conner...Cass..."

Dick blinks. Tim doesn't breathe.

"I called Conner," Dick frowns. "He said you weren't with him."

"That was before I got there, I guess," Tim responds.

Dick looks at him, trying to read him like Selina does. But there's a different light in Dick's eyes, one that appeared after Damian died, and it's quiet and hollow, not like his old one. The one that still had the circus glittering in it.

So Tim is a little disappointed when Dick doesn't say, _come on, Timmers, tell big brother the truth_ , because he just smiles a little sadly. "Thank God you're okay. Why weren't you on the radio?"

There's a burning in Tim's conscience. He has to tell him at least one truth. "I just...forgot about it. Sorry."

Dick sighs, nods and murmurs, "C'mere," and takes him to the living room. The lamps are all off, Dick doesn't bothering turning them on. The only light is streaming through the windows, making the room that once held a whole and complete family look like a tomb. "Timmy, I've got to tell you something."

Dick leads Tim to sit on the couch with him, and Tim watches Dick try to make everything seem okay and that feeling good is alright. That nothing hurts as bad as he believes.

Tim's back hurts. His eyes are dry.

"Timmy," Dick starts slowly, "I've...I've gotta get back to Bludhaven."

Dick moves his hand tentatively toward him, eventually coming to rest on his knee. "B's not gonna be on patrol for a few days and...I've got to get back to work. I can't just leave poor Babs there, you know?"

Tim nods, but he can feel his heart rate increasing. Dick...leaving? Dick's leaving for Bludhaven and he's-

"And I've got a new mission of sorts," he continues, "It'll mean some undercover work."

Undercover, he could be gone for just a week or more than a year. Tim doesn't move.

"But you've got to know I'm always here. Call me anytime you need me. Hey you can come over and we can patrol together, yeah?"

His mouth is dry and he whispers, "You're leaving me with Bruce?"

Dick sits up a little bit, puts an arm around the couch, capable of just sliding down to Tim's shoulders. "I know, Tim. I know. Bruce is being a real pain right now, it's just..."

Tim looks up at Dick, who stares out of the windows just over Tim's head. There's a bright reflection in his eyes. Tim feels his hand on his shoulder, stroking back and forth.

"It's just hard, Timmy. It's really hard."

Tim looks down at his hands, pulls them deeper into the sweater. Grasps the ends and the knit covers his knuckles. It's hard.

 _Too hard,_ a whisper says but another responds, _You have to do this. Do this for Dick._

"The only way we can get Bruce back up is if he realizes that he has to. We can't carry all of it for him while he...he gets all the evidence and stuff," Dick continues. He sounds a little hopeless. "He has to remember Gotham. You can help him remember Gotham."

"Dick," Tim says suddenly, shocking himself, "I can't even get him to remember me."

There's the ticking of a clock, Titus' nails scratching on marble somewhere in the distance. But other than that, there's a long and empty silence in the living room. Tim can't even hear Dick breathing.

That's his response.

Dick's hands move closer around Tim, pulling him to his chest.

"Hang in there, Timmers," Dick whispers into his hair. "Just hold on, okay?"

 _I can't anymore, you don't understand, whatever I'm holding on to is wet and slippery and I'm shaking, Dick. I can't do this anymore._

"Okay," Tim whispers. He needs to blink. The world is smearing again.

"You're a good kid, Timmy," Dick says, managing a small smile. "Bruce is...he's crazy proud of you, he...he loves you, Tim. Just give him some time."

Tim faces Dick and gives him the smile he needs, the one he wants. Dick stands up and whispers, "I gotta get going." He cups the back of Tim's neck, says again, "I'm always here, kiddo. You can always come and talk to me."

Tim nods, hugs Dick one more time, listens to the fast-paced heartbeat. He winces. They both have masks.

Dick seems almost stuck to Tim, eventually putting a hand on his shoulder to almost push him away, unable to look at him directly in the eye. "Love you, little bro," he murmurs and walks too quickly out of the room.

Tim stands there motionless, facing the wall. He listens to Dick's hushed goodbyes to Alfred, the shuffling of his shoes, the opening and closing of the door. The tires crunch outside in a few minutes. And when Tim turns to the window, he sees the car zooming away. Barely visible silhouette of Dick's head and shoulders hunched over.

The clock ticks on.

Tim looks away from the window and down at his sleeves. Dick never mentioned the sweater. But it smells more like him than it did before.

There's nothing more to do it seems. Tim wonders what stole Dick away so fast, what made him rush out the door like that. He made sure Tim was safe, that he knew where he was going, that he could call. And then he was gone.

It's kind of what Tim always imagined Dick was like when he left Bruce to become Nightwing. The repulsion at the sight of the manor walls, the silence. Bruce's sharp and apparent absence.

Tim sits down on the couch and wonders if it being repeated. If Bruce has said goodbye to Nightwing this time.

If Bruce had told Dick to get out too.

Tim has a fleeting image of calling Dick even now while he's on the road and telling him about everything that happened last night. He could tell him the truth, tell him that he was with Selina, not Conner, and she kept him all night and she gave him a place and a bed and breakfast and yoga pants and she let him cry.

She let him cry.

It's something with the Manor. Tim glances around at the shadows and the edges and grooves. There's no room for tears here anymore.

There used to be. He used to be able to go down to the Cave, and Bruce would notice the scent in the air that something was so terribly wrong. That everything was actually a mess. Like that time that Bruce came to Tim's bedroom just a few mornings after Jack Drake's death.

" _Do you want me to take the day off?"_ he had asked.

Bruce? Take the day off for Tim?

Tim didn't allow it, but later on that night, Tim cried himself to sleep in Bruce's arms. Bruce came and stayed right next to him throughout the funeral. He let him cry when he said he wanted to adopt him. And Tim cried by himself when he got a letter next to his bed the day after all the papers were signed. Some things Bruce wrote down, the things he couldn't say out loud.

 _I promise to love you, to provide for you, to shield you, to always be here for you. No matter where you are, in distance, time or space, I will be your father. Nothing will ever change that._

And Dick whispered in his ear, "Did you get your letter?" And when Tim whispered, yes, how did Dick know?

"I still have mine. We all got one."

Tim blinks and then keeps his eyes closed.

Batman and Robin.

There's still a chance.

Dick said that Bruce would remember Gotham, that Tim could help him remember. Tim can bring him back, he always has.

He brought him back from the dead. He can bring him back from this kind of dead.

Tim bolts up and steps two at a time up the stairs. He rushes to the library, nearly slips on the old throw rug on the threshold but he staggers away with a hateful glance at the hideous thing. He rubs his hands together and stares at the grandfather clock for a moment, before turning the hour hand to ten. And the minute hand to a little after forty-five.

The locks slap against each other.

 **A/N: Okay so the continuity is a little changed here, especially with Dick and his undercover work, and I know the story, but it's an AU so stuff will be changed. If anybody has any questions about how the story has been remade, please send me a PM and I'll explain (without giving spoilers!). Please review! It's very encouraging. :)**


	4. Chapter 4

The Cave is dark except for the rays of soft light streaming from the computers all around. Tim can see Bruce from the descending elevator windows, and his hand instinctively reaches out to touch the glass. Bruce is silhouetted in front of the console, massive frame silent and still. He's changed from the suit he was wearing last night to the sleeveless shirt and jeans that he wears when he's working. Slaving, even.

The elevator doors open with a clang and Tim rushes out, sheds the backpack he's been wearing all this time and steps down the stairs. The table behind Bruce is littered with maps, books, artifacts of old. Damian's mask. His tiny gloves.

Tim tears his eyes away from them and clears his throat. "Hey, B."

"Tim."

He can't even see Bruce's face. He doesn't turn towards him.

It's a little awkward. They did have a fight, of sorts, last night.

Tim takes two steps toward his father. "Um, 42nd was dead. Nothing to report."

"So you said."

Tim said? Tim did say. _Nothing to report,_ into the voicemail. Tim's eyes shift; Bruce's phone is right there next to console keyboard. Where it's apparent Bruce has been all night. The coffee cup he got last night is in the same place as before, the computer's up time is flickering over twelve hours on the screen.

So Bruce most likely did see. He did know.

"So..." Tim starts, "...you got my message?"

Bruce takes a deep breath, and Tim grimaces. "Yes, I did."

"Why didn't you call me back?"

"I wasn't concerned."

Well, there really wasn't much _to_ be concerned about, there was nothing to report, but if...if the phone was right there…

"You didn't come on patrol last night," Tim says, walking toward the table, moving a map to get a better look at it. Eastern Asia, and there's some sharpie marks over it, pointing to the islands just off of Indonesia.

Bruce doesn't answer right away. Tim looks at him, waiting.

"I knew you could handle it," he replies after a moment.

"W-what if I couldn't?" Tim asks.

Bruce's head turns only slightly, but only to glance at the tablet at his side that shows a document he's comparing. "...you could still take care of it."

"Bruce-" Tim turns away from the map, hoping to get those eyes to focus on him again.

"Tim," Bruce responds, head looking up to face the computer. "What do you want?"

"I just-" Tim stops suddenly.

Dick said to hold on. To hang in there.

Tim folds his arms over his chest, turning in on himself. "I just...wanted you to know where I was last night. I didn't...come in, you know."

Bruce doesn't answer, the keys clacking wildly under his fingertips. Tim licks his lips, feeling almost sick.

He runs through all of last night in his head. Visions of Saavik the kitten, yoga pants, Selina's smile, his crying, letting himself just about disintegrate in front of her. Catching his breath in a too-hot shower. Salsa and sandwiches. Sleeping all through the night, dreamless for once. Waking up and feeling her kiss his head, something he hasn't felt in years. Pancakes and jelly. The suggestions to test this hard and lonely place and ask himself if he wants to leave for a while.

He can't do this.

"I was with...Conner."

Bruce continues in his rapid-fire typing, and when Tim takes a few steps closer, he can see dark under his eyes, stark against the red rims and vivid blue. His hair is tousled from the constant rubbing that he does whenever he's under pressure. He looks white, but his eyes are still focused hard on the computer screen.

"You were with Superboy."

Tim raises an eyebrow at the change in Conner's name. "Yeah," he says anyway.

Bruce's eyes narrow. "Hm."

Tim blinks.

Tim doesn't want to leave Bruce. Not now. Maybe he can pretend this never happened. That doubt never entered his mind.

"I just stayed the night over," he says, making it seem simple enough. "He dropped me off at one of the safe houses this morning."

Something goes away from Bruce's eyes, and his fingers stop. He frowns even deeper, his mouth coming to a tight line. He doesn't look at Tim, resting his forearms on the edge of the desk. He studies the keyboard like it's unfamiliar.

"I wish you had stayed with him."

And something drops in Tim's chest. "Sir?"

"I said, I wished you had stayed with Superboy."

Tim's throat hurts, the back of his neck burns. "But Bruce, don't...I mean, can I help you? Find Damian, I mean?"

 _He wants to stay. He wants to be here. With him._

"No, Tim," Bruce says firmly. "I don't know why you came back."

His palms are sweating, but why is he shivering? "I don't know, I just thought that...maybe..."

"Tim, I don't need any help. I just...want you to go."

 _Get out._

Tim chews his lip, nods even though he knows Bruce isn't looking. "Okay," he says too loudly, too clearly for truth.

And just like last night, Tim turns and leaves, walks confidently out of the Cave. But this time, there's red everywhere, Tim's being shot at, and he can barely hear anymore. Doesn't hear himself thumping up the stairs, doesn't hear the grating of the elevator, doesn't process Bruce glancing back at him as he rises away. He only feels the heaviness, the ache that was pushed away last night.

He walks into his room, closes the door behind him, leans against it.

Remember to breathe.

Nothing has changed. Bruce still is...against him.

What does it mean, _I want you to go_? Go away and stay away? You're fired? I don't need you? I don't want you?

No, no, no, think logically. Bruce wouldn't be like that. Remember, distance, time and space.

But Tim hated Damian. He was against Damian. He didn't want Damian in Bruce's life. And Bruce wants him back.

So Tim can understand if he doesn't want him in that mission. If he doesn't want him in this new life.

He slides down the floor, back pressed against the door. It's just like last night. The walls are all staring at him, waiting for him to do something. Anything.

"I'm sorry," is all he can whisper right now. "I'm just so sorry."

He covers his face with his hands and sees those eyes looking back at him, the nagging voice that taunted him, that responded in kind, "We're not brothers."

Oh if only he could go back. If only he could erase everything he said, every strike he made. If only. If only he could tear the pages out and say, "Please no, could we back up?"

"Can I try that again?"

For both their sakes. For Bruce's. How could he go around burning everything and everybody?

It's hurting so bad. Tim hates the hurt, hates the way he can feel it all and pushes his hands against the holes in the dam until he's playing a game of Twister and he can't take that sort of pressure anymore. That dam that holds back the panic and the fear that he'll fall apart someday. That he won't have anything to believe in or anyone.

Hell breaks loose with that dam and if it breaks, who would he be in the end?

But maybe people will get out of the way. People will move away from him; Dick, Bruce, Jason and all the Justice League and the Teen Titans ( _Conner, forgive me_ ), please just get out of the way. He'll let the dam free and only he will be swept away into that unknown.

Didn't he see that just now? Bruce moving away?

And there will be a flood, but the waters will come to a calm at some point and who will be left at the end of the new river, if anybody at all?

Tim lifts his head, stares straight ahead. Damian's face still flickers in his line of vision.

"Selina Kyle," he whispers to the watching walls.

She whispered, " _Let it go, Tim. Don't keep it, let it all go."_

Tempting. Just imagining it, brings such a relief, like somebody can hold it all for him for a moment, to give him a rest. Like Bruce carrying him the rest of the way home.

He had just a taste of it last night. This morning.

Finally, some advice that said "stop working" and not "work until you don't feel anymore".

So Tim's wince changes into a small smile when he digs his phone out of his pocket, calls Selina.

And he stands up, sits down on the bed and whispers, "Hello," when she answers.

"How are you?" Selina asks, in that searching voice that she has. She'll be able to hear everything in Tim's voice so he has to be extra careful.

And that's why Tim hesitates in answering that question.

Selina sighs before he can. "Big Daddy's not too friendly these days, huh, kitten?"

"He-he needs time," Tim says, insisting to the both of them. "He'll be okay."

"Are _you_ gonna be okay?" Selina asks and Tim blinks, wonders how to reply.

"Selina," he says carefully, "I don't...I don't really know what to do with him. Dick told me that I should hang in there but...Bruce doesn't want me here. He told me."

Tim looks down, fingers his jean hems and swallows the ache in his throat. "I can't tell what I've done. Or what to do about it."

"Then come stay," Selina replies gently.

He hesitates again.

Tim hates feeling.

But why has he ever if it wasn't for that last bit of advice, to immerse himself in a mission until all feelings were turned off, hidden away, a scar over a wound.

Feeling doesn't make sense if he can just run through life and make it all perfect for himself and everybody. Feelings hold you up, they make you doubt. They make you stop at all the roadsigns and wonder, _Is this what I want?_

But Selina had whispered it, " _Don't keep it all inside like that, it'll kill you."_

Like an ice cream sundae Dick had made for him, with a brilliant red cherry that he plopped on the very top, " _And frankly, I like you way too much to let that happen."_

Dick laughed when Tim ate the cherry first.

"You don't...mind?" he finally queries. "It's okay?"

"Yeah kitten. It's okay."

"Just for a while. Until he's..."

"Yeah. Until he's better." The line is quiet for a moment and then Selina says slowly, almost soothing, "Come on back, baby."

Tim closes his eyes, whispers, "I'm coming back."

He can almost hear Selina smile. "See you a bit," she says.

When she hangs up, Tim takes the suit out of the backpack. He folds up his laptop, slips it in its sleeve, rolls up the adapters and earbuds, stuffing them all into the backpack.

He halts for a moment when Alfred knocks on the door. "Master Tim?"

"Yeah, Alfie?" Tim asks tentatively, pressing the backpack down, just in case.

The door opens and the old butler's concern is written all over his face. "I was just checking in on you, young sir. Is everything alright?"

Tim notices his dark eyes turning toward the backpack, the laptop pulled from it's usual place at his desk. "Yeah, everything's alright. I'm just...I'm going to stay with a friend."

The concern leaves Alfred's face and he nods firmly. "Very good sir. It's...no use for you to stay around this empty place. You are much better off with anyone else than Master Bruce, I'm afraid."

 _Or he's better off without me_ , Tim thinks, looking down at the backpack. "He...he doesn't need to know I'm gone, Alfie."

Alfred tilts his head to one side, comes closer to him. "I don't believe I can see why, Master Tim. I should think he would concerned about your whereabouts."

Tim shakes his head, "He won't be. Don't worry about it. He's busy."

"Well, I will certainly tell him if he inquires after you," Alfred says, dead serious.

Tim picks up his laptop and puts it in the backpack. "Just tell him that I'm with...Kon. I'm going to go down to one of the safe houses; he said he'd be around there and he'll pick me up."

Alfred smiles in pleasure. "I'm glad you've decided to stay with Master Kent. You'll be alright with him. I'm afraid he's one of the few I trust with you, Master Timothy."

Tim smiles at the thought of Conner. But he can't go to him, not now. He needs some distance away from anything to do with the Justice League. He'll text him, call him, let him know he's okay.

And maybe he'll go see him. When Tim is ready to pick it all back up again, Conner will help him remember who he is. Like he always does.

Tim takes a deep breath, reaches out to wrap his arms around the old man. "I'll miss you, Alfie."

Alfred hugs back, rubbing his white-gloved hand up and down Tim's back. "I will miss you as well, young sir." He pulls back and puts his hands firmly on Tim's shoulders, looks hard into his eyes. "Remember what I told you."

Tim nods. "There are more important things in this world than keeping secrets."

But he can't find more important things than his secrets. They're protecting him.

Protecting him and Selina.

Alfred leaves Tim to pack. Tim gets some clothes, an empty notebook and a working pen (priorities), and when he is looking through his top desk drawer, he finds an old envelope. On the front is Bruce's neat script and it says his name.

Tim's opened it a hundred times. It's the letter he got the morning after all the adoption papers were signed.

And he glances at his backpack.

Wonders if he should take it with him.


	5. Chapter 5

Reason number 6,871 of why Selina Kyle likes Tim Drake-Wayne: he talks to cats.

She'll come into the living room and find Saavik perched on Tim's shoulder, cautious to move around for fear of slipping, and he'll glance up from his laptop and ask her what she's up to. He answers without a reply, "You're getting in trouble is what you're doing."

He'll be washing dishes (because he thinks he has to...earn his "keep"? _What?_ ) and Lilly Mae walks in between his legs, jumps on the counter top and he asks if she would like to help washing dishes.

The cats love Tim.

And Selina finds herself loving Tim in a way she has never loved in years. Discovering that you really care about someone, it's always a bit surprising, and you always walk away wondering how it got there, how it suddenly came to life like springtime after winter. You're never watching. It just happens.

Selina can look back on the last week of Tim living with her and see signs of where it was coming. The way he curls up on the couch and texts a friend of his, slow smile appearing on his face. How she'll find him completely upside down doing handstands in his bedroom. The elaborate, to the point of obsessive, dinner he made for her once and said, " _Pour toi mon amour,_ " as he set it before her and stood back to gauge her reaction. He laughed when, after tasting it, she stood and whispered in his ear, " _C'est merveilleux."_

Tim turns all kinds of colors whenever she kisses the very top of his head. He rubs the back of his neck nervously.

Tonight she comes back from prowling the streets to the dark of the apartment, a single lamp streaming from the living room. She steps quietly in, staying in the shadows.

Selina whips off her glasses but pauses, sees Tim lying on his stomach, fast asleep on the couch, but his fingers are still gripping a pen and a notebook that's fallen to the floor, pages folded on itself. Selina smiles and chuckles softly. Tim can probably sleep anywhere.

She did find him on the floor next to Lilly Mae a few mornings ago.

Selina kicks off her boots to maintain quiet. She steps over and slips the pen out of his fingers, picks up the notebook and closes it. Her eyes get pulled back to Tim's face, over and over again. Her hand reaches out to smooth away the dark hair, tucking it behind his ear.

They had gone to the skating rink this snowy morning and though he had never tried it, Selina watched Tim catch on quickly, turning around and around, figuring eight on the sparkling ice covering the pond in the park. She reached out and held his hands, circling together. Noise, noise everywhere: the crackling of blades against the ice, Tim's laugh, her shout, "Come on, come on, speed it up!" and they both ended up on the ground but who really cared, they hadn't had that much fun in...years, really.

"You really don't know how to do this!" Selina shrieked. "I thought your old man knew everything."

Tim laughed and struggled to get up, eventually letting Selina help him slide up. "Oh, he probably doesn't know how to skate anyways."

They had snowball fights and Tim so totally won. His bony hands were tipped with red and his hair peeked out of the cap with Gotham Knights emblazoned on the front, edged with pieces of snow.

She watched him defrost this evening with a cup of hot chocolate. He dipped his fingertip in it and let Saavik have a taste.

And Selina wonders again for the thousandth time this week: how could Bruce just brush him away?

How could he ignore this precious existence?

How did Selina not see it herself?

Now she picks up the old quilt that she's had since she was just a little girl, pulls it over Tim's still frame, tucks it around his shoulders. There's a small frown coming over his face; she wonders if she'll have to get him out of another nightmare tonight.

She'll stay up a little longer. Just in case.

She'll work on her new little project, the one with the seams and the black cloth lined with a thin covering of Kevlar. She acted on it in an impulse soon after Tim came back a few days ago from the Manor. Though she had been planning to get a new suit made for herself, those plans changed when she was lying awake at night, listening to Tim whisper to the cats just before he went to bed.

She's always wanted a pet master detective to join her in her nocturnal adventures.

How convenient. Tim is constantly observing, she watches his eyes whenever they're in public; how he glances at people, notices tiny things: the way that clock is off by a few minutes so technically this restaurant opens a little too early. Bruce's eyes apparently dilate when he sees you, Selina; it's a natural reaction because he's attracted to you. Selina's has deft and delicate small motor skills, a sign that she is very aware of tiny things.

Oh yes, things like jewelry. The ones with millions of tiny diamonds studded hard gold.

So wouldn't it be nice to be able to know the inner workings of that gorgeous mansion that was just bought a few weeks ago? What would be inside it?

It's been a while since Selina closed her hands over something big and beautiful and glittering madly.

She is starting to miss the thrill, the adrenaline rush of being on the run, the victory when the prize is won.

That's why she goes to her bedroom, closes the door behind her. There's the new suit under the bed, the one that will fit Batman's stray.

The black sheen with the few threads of purple in it slips easily as she holds it up to the light. It's loose enough to be comfortable, tight enough to keep from getting caught to anything while on the getaway. There's even a hood just like hers, with cat ears.

Selina knows she's taking a chance. Tim has been under Bruce Wayne's roof for a long time, stuck on high standards and white against black morals. She knows that if she offered Tim a chance to join her in _her_ crusade, he'd refuse. He fears Batman's rejection. He fears that he'll step down too far and no one will be able to pick him back up again. That Bruce will turn his back one more time on him and never glance over his shoulder. Oh, he'd be sweet in it all and will fear Selina's rejection as well. He'd be stepping on eggshells with her for a long time. She doesn't want that, she wants Tim to know that he's safe, that he's wanted here, that he doesn't have to "earn his keep".

But Selina has to keep hers. And that means she needs to see the inside of that mansion.

She folds the suit up.

She does know how to get Tim's mind on her side.

* * *

"I talked to some friends," Tim says over a bowl of cereal the next morning in response to Selina's questions on what he was up to yesterday evening while she was gone. "They just wanted to check on me."

Selina rubs his back as she hands him a cup of coffee, feels the muscles underneath her palms stiffen and then relax. "What did you tell them?"

"I told them to avoid Bruce," Tim mutters. "They...they told me he's not on good terms with the Justice League right now."

"The whole thing with Damian?" Selina asks.

"Yeah. I don't get it," Tim shakes his head. "I mean...I wouldn't argue with Superman, even if I _was_ Batman."

Selina chuckles, sits down with him and blows on the hot coffee. "Don't worry about it."

Tim turns his spoon over and over in the bowl, frowning. "He hasn't called, you know."

She looks hard at him, then lays a hand on Tim's arm. "Baby, you gotta know something."

Tim's blue eyes look up at her and he waits while she holds up a finger, takes a sip of her coffee.

"Bruce Wayne is a real interesting guy," she says. "He takes in five kids, gives 'em a great home and education, gets 'em able live on the streets. I have no doubt that the five of you could survive the zombie apocalypse. By yourselves. Even individually if you like."

Tim smirks.

"But Bruce Wayne is also a real hot jerk," Selina finishes it all off.

Tim's smile leaves. "Huh?"

"Yeah," she says, grabbing the milk carton and pouring it over her own bowl of cereal. "He's a real jerk. He takes you like a tool and when he's done with you, he drops you. You're finished."

Tim winces at the word _drop_. "He...he's not like that."

"Baby, I was his girlfriend for a long time," Selina smiles. "I should know."

Tim leaves his spoon in the bowl, works his hands in his lap. He looks down, shoulders hunched over and Selina sees what she saw last week; insecure teenager, confused and alone.

"What do I do?" Tim whispers. "How do I get back to him?"

"You don't, kitten," Selina insists. "You let him get back to you. You don't deserve to chase him all over. You don't deserve that kind of treatment."

"He's not against me," Tim breathes. He's still searching.

"And you're not against him. But don't run yourself over trying to get him back."

Tim is silent for a moment, his finger tracing the edges of the spoon left cold in his cereal bowl. He's thinking, processing. Selina watches the gears clicking.

She slides her bowl to the chair right next to Tim's, but she doesn't sit down. Her hand runs over his back, a trick she's learned about him. He loves the contact, the short distance.

He's almost hungry for it, with the way he rests into it, lets himself be touched like that. Reassuring movements, _everything's okay_.

In a moment this quiet, this close, she could give it all a shot.

"Hey."

He looks up at her, eyes less anxious.

"Wanna come get some perps with me tonight?"

There's that twitch in his right eyebrow as the question surprises him a little. He chews on his lip. "I...I don't have my suit. And...Bruce wouldn't know that I'd be out there. He'd want to know and—"

"Batman doesn't _have_ to know," she says, sitting down next to him. "And I guess you could say I've kind of solved the suit problem myself."

Tim tilts his head in confusion and Selina chuckles. "I'll tell you about it later. What do you say, baby? You could be somebody else tonight. Kind of try out a new identity? See how it fits?"

Tim blinks his eyes away, but as Selina shifts her eyes away from her cereal, she can see that _oh yes,_ he'd like that, even if just for a few nights. He's thinking again, but she can just tell by the way his finger taps against the counter top, the fraction of a smile on his lips and how he can't quite look at her yet…

She's almost closed her hand over that beautiful sparkling jewel.

"Bruce wouldn't want me to be Red Robin...because that would be associating myself with the Teen Titans and therefore the Justice League. He's in trouble with them right now, but...we can't just leave Gotham," he murmurs.

"Yeah," Selina agrees softly. "You've got some work to do."

And he nods slightly. Then he can look up at her again.

"Yeah," he says. "Yeah, I'd like to follow you."

She grins, kisses his cheek.

Selina saw him hanging on by only one hand to whatever was left of that looming angry Manor over in Bristol County.

She'll be there to catch him when he falls.

She'll be there to welcome the stray into her life.


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N: Trigger warning: drug reference and shooting in this chapter.**

It's not as tight as the Red Robin suit. It's lighter, and he can breathe in it. Clinging to his skin, but loose enough for free movement. There's pockets in the pants and a belt to go with it. The boots are firm but they're not heavy, and good for climbing with the sharp edges on the heels and sides. He double knots the laces.

There are fingerless gloves, open spaces easy for his fingers to move. Throwing punches might be a little more difficult, but that's okay; kicking will be easier.

There's just not so much weight. Inside and out.

Tim takes a deep breath and turns around, but halts when he faces the full-length mirror.

There's a different person there. Tim can still see his face, black hair swaying in front of his eyes, but there's this high black collar, gleaming zipper, weird gleam over dark leather. There's someone so much smaller than Red Robin in there, someone who looks so changed. It's like a space quadrant came and got stuck to him.

It's the new identity that Selina Kyle had mentioned.

Tim walks over the mirror, doesn't know who he's looking at.

He's never worn complete pure black in the streets before. Bruce said he'd have to earn the shadows, the dark.

Has he finally earned it and he can prove it?

Or has he stolen it? Has he sneaked up behind Bruce and burgled it?

But this is a chance. To start over, to shed the burdens that he's been carrying forever, emotionally and literally. The wings don't hang from his shoulders, there's no weight on his chest. And there's nobody to represent other than himself.

Tim pulls on the hood, smiles at the cat ears. Selina would totally do that.

"You look gorgeous," she says behind him, reflected in the mirror, leaning against the door frame. She's in her own suit now, and she holds her red-tinted glasses in the hand that's resting on her hip.

"I feel...different," Tim can only say. He doesn't turn away from the stranger in the mirror.

"Well, you should," Selina says, coming towards him, placing her hands on his shoulders. "You're wearing a different self now." Her finger flicks one of the ears, "The ears are cute."

Tim chuckles, finally peels his eyes away from the mirror, turns and faces Selina. "Thank you. For everything. For...this."

She smiles, cups his face in her hands and kisses his nose. As if it's not like sending lightning bolts through him enough, she wraps her arms around him, holding him close. "I just...I just want you to be happy," she whispers.

Tim's hands come to fists on her back, and he lets himself hug a little tighter. "I am."

 _What would Batman say right now?_ Tim wonders, covering his eyes in her shoulder.

Would he shake his head, _Red Robin, I don't understand how you can stand with a criminal record like hers,_ _where is your sense of justice_ _,_ and stomp off with a whirl of his cape?

Selina pulls back, smiles in excitement. "Ready to go?"

Tim picks up his own pair of glasses, blue-tinted, not red like hers. He adjusts the straps, has them rest just above his forehead. "Yeah. Let's go."

He pushes away the thought of the stomping off and the cape.

To fly again. Tim loves the snow-covered ground, he loves the sureness of gravity and he loves looking up at the sky. But being that close to heaven, only so many hundreds of feet from the atmosphere. And especially at night when the blueness is vanished and he has the stars all to himself, even though they are partially obscured by Gotham smog. Sometimes, when he was Red Robin, he would sit on some skyscraper roof, lie back and stare at the sky.

He would always get excited when he saw what seemed to be a star, moving slowly but surely through the black.

" _Batman,"_ he'd whisper through the radio, _"I can see the International Space Station._ "

Those were the few times that Bruce would forget to tell him before the patrol, " _I have the coordinates if you want to see the ISS._ "

So when Tim's grappling hook pulls him closer and closer to the sky, he always keeps an eye out for the spacecraft. He never knows when he'll get lucky.

Catwoman leads, but Tim knows the streets she's leading them down. It's a little closer out of town, more on the edge of the city. From his view Lemmars Park is quiet tonight, and if he turns around at a good height, he can see the far distant W logo on Wayne Tower. Gotham Stadium's light up like a Christmas tree, and there's crowds over there, going crazy over a football game.

Tim loves watching Catwoman move through air, jumping to the ground and then, quite a lot like a cat, slink along the walls, glancing back and forth, eying everything so carefully. Tim mimics, studies her moves.

Part of him wants to stow the information away; it may be useful while acting as Red Robin.

But most of him realizes that this is right and smart and logical, and he can use it to be whoever he wants to be. It could be part of himself.

It's a little freeing, actually. But Tim always steps back at the feeling of being free. It's gotten him into trouble before (his father's face flashing before his eyes) and he doesn't want to have that happen ever again.

So Tim just watches, gathers the technique, puts them into the back of his mind.

Catwoman slides down a wall and peers around the corner, and nods to Tim. He can hear the sounds of men arguing down a dead end alley, and he can catch the words "trade", "sorry", and "over".

A deal gone wrong perhaps? Catwoman glances back at him, smirks. "Smack," she whispers. "I'll let you have the honors."

Tim swallows, and they trade places, Tim getting an overview of the alley. Two buildings separate by only 30 feet, two thugs beginning to corner one against a chain link fence touching both far edges of the buildings. Tim can easily go up behind them while they're so very distracted.

Batman would have gone to the top of the roof on the far side, then jumped right in the middle of them to scare them. Knock them out one by one.

But Selina's style is different, it always has been. He finds himself adopting it.

It's one that is motivated by fun. Sheer unexplainable fun. It's a different way to inspire fear.

She makes it look easy.

Now he's smiling. He'll try her style out tonight. Give them the shock of their life. Turning back to Selina, he jerks his head towards them.

She nods, but then holds up a finger to halt him. She grabs his hand and presses her whip into his palm, and then her eyes cut up to him knowingly.

Yeah. He _will_ give them the shock of their life.

So Tim borrows what he's learned so far, crawling on the ground and moving slow.

He stands up carefully about 5 feet away from them, unnoticed until the unlucky guy cornered against the fence blanches once he sees him in between his new enemies.

"You said you'd have it!" one growls, his fist tightening. "Where is it?!"

"There's...there's-" the loser trembles, pointing a finger.

"Pretty sure it's not there, Bax!" the other thug shouts, grabbing the man and hurling him towards Tim, and Tim just stands as the man cowers at his feet.

"Oh," Tim says out loud, cracking the whip to one side, the sound echoing, "Did I interrupt the party?"

"Who are you?" one thug, face covered in stubble and head by black baseball cap ( _your name until I can find out your real one,_ Tim decides), queries, his eyes confused, but Tim's getting his point across.

"Okay, I'm gonna make this simple," Tim holds up his hands, "In case you didn't know, there's an undercover campaign – of sorts – to stop the drug dealing in Gotham City. Um. I'm a participant, if you like. And I'm ordering you, get out of here."

"It's a kid, Ol," Baseball Cap mutters angrily, as if to remind his companion of the seeming odds.

"Yeah, whatcha gonna do, kid?" Apparently Ol ( _Oliver?_ Tim wonders) asks, swaggering over to Tim. "What if we _don't_ take our business someplace else?"

Tim takes a deep breath, glances at the ground, and then delivers a roundhouse kick to the thug's side, feeling a rib crack under the boot. Ol hits the ground, holding a hand to his side and nearly crying in pain. "That's a start," Tim says, glancing at the other two. "You want more?"

"No, man, we're getting out," the one named Bax cries, scurrying away from Tim, but Ol looks up with a snarl on his face. He lunges toward Tim, which gives the other two courage. Tim ducks away, letting them nearly fall on their faces and Tim...laughs at them.

Tim hasn't laughed at people like them since he was a small Robin.

Selina's laughing too, and when the thugs look up, Tim realizes quickly that they know Catwoman pretty well. They're cowering before her. "Hey boys," she says with a beautiful grin, "Did you meet my little stray?"

Various expressions appear on their faces, eyes shifting wildly trying to find an escape. Selina chuckles, flexing her hands, claws gleaming on the fingertips. "Oh he's a real cutie, huh?"

But between Tim and Selina, it doesn't look like there's much choice except to fight their way out. So it's a small scrape, ending with a broken wrist, one broken rib (each) and it looks like Bax may have a case of hyperventilation. In the end, Selina has two of Ol's fingers pulled all the way back to the point of breaking and when tears appear, he swears he won't deal in Gotham anymore. "Make sure you keep that promise or I'm gonna send my little kitten after you. You don't want that, do you?" Selina whispers, voice threatening but honeyed.

"N-no," the thug shuddered.

"Okay," She says, "I'm gonna let you go this time. There's a Stray in town. Pass it on."

Stray.

Stray.

Tim repeats the name over and over in his head. So many reasons for a name like that. But the top one that sticks out is that he's _straying_. Wandering away from Batman.

But didn't Batman – how did Selina put it – _drop_ him?

When Selina finishes it off with a crack of the man's fingers, Tim watches him run madly away, limping and hunched over. Tim has identification pieces already recorded in his head if ever he comes back to finish the deal.

It's not exactly the way Batman would do it. But it will work.

Selina laughs again, "Did you see his face? I don't think he was expecting that."

"They never do," Tim says. He stops and stares at the entrance to the alley and picks up the whip. "Hey, thanks for the whip. It's a really cool-"

But when he looks back, he sees Selina climbing the chain link fence easily as a cat would. He watches curiously, wonders what she's doing. Behind that fence is a small suburban where some families would actually like to live in peace. Tim and Batman had only once been down there, but they usually kept their perimeters around the area, protecting the street on the outside.

"Catwoman?" Tim asks as he sees her skulking down the street, orange streetlights making her suit shimmer. Tim climbs the fence, guesses she's seen something and didn't have time to explain.

Most of the homes here are your average suburban homes, but Tim knows that there was a small mansion bought here just a few weeks ago by a woman well known in Bruce Wayne's circles: Alisha Caldwell, who had just received her inheritance through her father's will, and would soon be moving into this place, a small retreat from the penthouse close to Wayne Tower. Tim had met Miss Caldwell a few times at some social party thrown in Bruce's name. She's a nice pretty girl, with long curly brown hair and gentle dark eyes. Probably the nicest person Tim had met in that stuck up stiff place.

She would want a home out of Midtown, closer to the park and the bay.

Tim can see the Caldwell Mansion from here. A few old fashion lampposts with a green haze with black railing fence illuminating the snow on the ground, little roses lit by the lawn spotlights. Tim sticks close to the shadows on the opposite side of the street, but he takes a moment to look at the mansion.

He notes Victorian replica architecture, climbing ivy on one side. It's just a charming little place that Tim wouldn't mind having something like himself some day. Wayne Manor is cool and there's always a surprise for him and there's lots of room for playing tag with his brothers and a huge backyard where they've had numerous snowball wars this time of year, but the quiet here. It's enchanting.

And that's why Tim nearly panics when he sees Catwoman jump the tiny fence, her heels crunching only slightly on the mostly melted snow.

"Selina," he whispers almost to himself and gets up, crossing the street, reminding himself to stick to the black. Catwoman has come towards the left side of the house, glancing up at the dying ivy.

 _I just hope that's not a signal from a good dear friend named Pamela_ , Tim thinks. _Here. Come and check out this place._

Selina Kyle better not be getting any ideas in her head, but when Tim comes closer, just on the outside of the fence, he sees that there's a balcony right above Catwoman. It'll be easy for her.

Tim jumps the fence, comes up to her and whispers, "Selina...what are you doing? Let's go, you said we'd patrol."

"This is patrol," she hisses back, clawed fingers catching on the ridges of the building, heels gripping another.

"No," Tim whispers back. "You're about to commit illegal entry; it's illegal enough we're over this fence!"

Selina looks back at him and a smile curves her lips. "Come with me, kitten."

Tim shakes his head, takes a step backwards.

"Come here," she repeats, gentle, like the first time she offered that about a week ago.

Tim bites his lip, glances up at the balcony. She continues to climb, with or without him.

He knew Selina had an addiction to the thrill of burglary. It came and went as it pleased, but it seemed to come at the most unwelcome times.

 _Maybe I can still stop her, and there's a chance security is here; maybe she won't want to break in._

The ridges have paint chipping off of them so Tim gets a good grip on them. The boots have the edged heels so they clamp in easily. Selina's already a good ways above him, but he catches up, and then straddles the balcony railing.

He glances down. It's a long way down and they should be careful.

 _What am I doing?_

Selina is on her knees in front of the balcony door, studying the lock. "Hm," she seems satisfied and she takes a lock pick from one of her belt pouches. She grins when the lock clicks.

"Selina, this is totally illegal," Tim repeats in a hiss.

"Baby, swinging from building to building is illegal too," she whispers, finally looking up at him.

Tim frowns. "It is?"

"Yeah, we're stealing air space," she chuckles, and opens the door so quietly, so cautiously.

Tim can feel heat radiating all over his neck, sweating gathering in his hands and the suit has suddenly gotten too tight. "No," he whispers, but Selina holds a finger up. She's in the house.

It's dark, and it seems like everybody's asleep. Tim wonders why they haven't set off any alarms; maybe it's because this is an old house and it has just been bought. They haven't gotten a chance to install any.

Tim comes silently behind Selina, and when he crosses the threshold, he reaches out and grabs her arm. Shakes his head when she looks back.

"I just want to look," she mouths, patting his hand and then prying it off. She walks in and Tim swallows, glances around for the owner or anyone else who may have heard noises in the balcony.

It looks like an office, with the dark cherry wood desk and little green lamp sitting in the corner. Papers all over it, unpacked boxes in the corners. Intricate designs on the old carpet, and the familiar smell of paint. They're remaking some of the rooms. There's a closed door on the right, probably leading to a bedroom, and an open door leading to a sitting room on the left. A bookcase in front with perhaps a hundred titles.

There's a pair of flip-flops next to the swivel chair, lipstick on the desk. Selina pauses there, opens a tiny silver box there.

She looks back, holds up a pearl necklace. Mouths, " _Not real!"_

"Let's go," Tim whispers.

"I'm still shopping, honey," she whispers back, carefully opens the top drawer. Tim winces at a slight creaking noise.

Tim steps forward; he's had enough, this isn't him, this isn't part of the identity he wants, what would Batman-

"What are you doing in here?!" And the lights turn on, and when Tim turns to the door he sees Alisha Caldwell standing there in shock. Pink bathrobe glimmering, curly hair messed from tossing in bed, Miss Caldwell's eyes are full of fear and she grips a book in one hand. "Get out of here!" she shrieks.

Selina's lip jerks downward on one side, and she's going, Tim's going until someone else appears from the left side of the room. A man with a set of dark glasses on his face, his face lined with concentration, body tense with a goal. He holds out a shining pistol with a silencer on it, but it's not aimed at the burglars.

He fires only once, all too quietly at Alisha Caldwell, and Tim knows once she hits the floor that she is dead.

Selina bolts for the balcony and swings down, but Tim finds his voice, feeling his heartbeat screaming in his ears, "Hey-"

But the man jumps over the desk and slams a hand over Tim's mouth, pressing him to the wall. Tim prepares for a bullet in his chest or abdomen, but the man just stares hard and cold down on him.

He's about 6' 2, Tim guesses, maybe mid-forties, thin mouth and a scar on his neck, covered only slightly by the black turtleneck sweater he's wearing. Tim struggles to see through the dark glasses to his eyes. "You didn't make an appointment," the man whispers, inches from Tim.

Tim doesn't answer, even when the man uncovers his mouth. The man doesn't raise his glasses, but he glances toward the window. "Didn't know Catwoman got a boy-toy."

Tim frowns, knowing Selina would never lay a finger on his head. He's so glad his own glasses are down. The scene is out of hand. It was out of hand when Selina jumped the fence.

But there's a small smile on the murderer's face, and he says softly, "Hey. I'll make you a deal. I can see you need some help, kiddo. So I'll let you go this time." From his pocket, he produces a tiny velvet box, and he takes Tim's hand and places it in his palm. "Next time...make an appointment, okay? The number's in there."

Tim nods, playing along, and the man's hand comes up to his neck, much like how Dick does the same, cupping the back of his neck, ready to pull him close at any moment. "You better get back with your friend," he says. "If someone who runs from you at a burglary can be called a friend. Off you go, buddy."

Tim obeys. Blindly obeys, shoves the box into his pocket, climbing down ridge by ridge, glancing up at the light streaming from the balcony.

Alisha Caldwell was killed tonight and Tim Drake-Wayne saw it all happen.

Tim goes back to the chain-link fence, climbs over it and then gets down in the black alley. He slides down the wall, close to a dumpster, covers his mouth and tries to breath.

"Kitten," a hiss in the dark, and Tim startles, with a small cry. Selina whips off her glasses, her eyes shot with fear. "What happened?! I thought you were right behind me!"

Tim shakes his head only slightly, tries to say that yeah, he was but boy, did he get held up. He takes the box out of his pocket. On the top is inscribed in silver swirled letters, "Nicholson Jewelers".

"Oh no," Tim breathes, opening the box and finding a gleaming amethyst pendant, studded with diamonds all around the circular gem. Right underneath it, scratched in sharpie, is a phone number. 734-389-7473.


	7. Chapter 7

There's a silence that's held over them, from the frantic rush home, to the shedding of their suits, to now as Tim comes out of the bathroom, hair wet and with new questions darting at him. He ignores the cats who sense that something's wrong, ignores the tiny velvet box on the table.

Who would want to kill a sweet girl while she tried to stop burglars from raiding her new home? Who would...give the burglars a chance? But then request they- _he -_ schedule an appointment? Appointment for what?

Scheduled burglary?

He throws a towel around his neck and walks into the living room, turns on his computer. Selina is in her bathrobe and at the counter top, black hair sticking up all over the place. "What are you doing?" she asks in a monotone, almost suspicious.

"I'm trying to look up what Alicia Caldwell has been doing the last few weeks, at the least," Tim responds, "Who she's been hanging out with."

"You think this is the time for detective work?" Selina chuckles wryly, pouring a cup of coffee.

"I'm...not sure there is a _bad_ time for detective work," Tim responds, looking up at Selina.

She won't keep her eyes on him, and has been unusually quiet. Tim takes a chance. "So what happened with you?"

Selina shrugs, shakes her head. Lilly Mae rubs against her legs. "Got antsy. Wanted to give it a try."

Tim groans. "But Alicia Caldwell is dead," he says quietly, waiting for a web page. "It's because of..."

And Tim had thought of saying _you_ , but he was the one who had the velvet box given to, he was the one who followed Selina in, he was as deep in as she was.

"It's because of us," he finishes, looking down at his hands. And everything's silent again.

"We were in the wrong place at the wrong time," Selina says, sitting down in front of him on the coffee table. "Don't beat yourself up for this."

He looks up into her emerald eyes, feeling the heaviness again, wanting to go back and erase the last two hours. Just stop at the deal bust, just let us be together at the end, and let's just have us laugh and keep on going and wrap this night up.

He was just starting to feel good about being… Stray.

It was just a little dangerous and Tim has always loved danger except for when it came to moving out of the boundaries that other people had set for him.

And see? It got him in trouble again. Somebody's dead; just like last time.

He should've learned that lesson a long time ago.

"Selina," he whispers, almost desperately. But he can't finish anything more. So when she smiles sadly and reaches for his hands and breathes, "It's gonna be okay," there are too many thoughts in his head ( _no it's not, someone is dead, we have an amethyst necklace, we don't know who was in the building, who just shot and killed Alicia, and I'm so far down, no you don't understand!)_ but he can't say it all out loud. It'd get too tangled up. So he watches Selina rub her fingers against his, pressing down on the muscles that are tense, until his hands are limp in hers.

He doesn't get it.

"Let's check the news," Selina whispers, with a crease in her eyebrow. "See what they say."

Tim has to pull one hand out Selina's hold and pick up the remote on the couch. "They'll have found her by now," he murmurs, changing channels.

"Probably," Selina replies, not looking at the TV, taking Tim's hand again.

But Tim doesn't notice because there _they_ are. In blotchy security camera, he relives Selina jumping the fence and he follows, and there are voices sounding concerned, "... _a notorious burglar who goes by the name of Catwoman seems to have a companion this time-_ "

"Selina, that's us," Tim breathes, and though he's been on the news before, as Red Robin or Tim Wayne, it's different, and he can sense every eye watching them but he doesn't know how, how did they-

" _This was caught via Miss Caldwell's new neighbors' security cameras, and though we don't have much of a view because Catwoman and her sidekick went out of the frame, it's very obvious that they were planning a break in and the subsequent murder of Caldwell."_

"Makes sense," Selina says, still not looking up.

" _I met up with Catwoman,"_ an all too familiar voice says, and there's Ol, the thug they met up before all this happened. " _She said she had a new friend named Stray._ "

Tim stares in shock.

"You're official, baby," Selina mutters. "Betcha he doesn't tell all of how he met Catwoman and Stray."

He exhales, watching them replay over and over again, Stray jumping the fence and running towards the house. " _Miss Alicia Caldwell had just bought the Carlingwood Mansion in an attempt to be closer to her family who live in Bristol County, and from what police say, she was brutally murdered by Catwoman and her new sidekick, Stray. Back to you, Harry."_

"Wait a second," Tim whispers, "No, wait, we didn't kill her, how did they-"

" _...but there's a constant question in the minds of everybody involved in this,_ " the second anchor comments, _"and that question is this: where in the world is Batman, the supposed protector of our great city? If he was around tonight (and let me remind you all that we haven't seen him in a record two months), would this sweet girl have been killed tonight? It just begs the question of how a vigilante can seemingly take care of everything and miss out on stopping Catwoman and Stray from murdering a kind young lady and benefactor to Gotham City."_

"They'll drag Batman out," Tim says. "He'll have to come after this."

"Yeah and he'll bring it to our doorstep, Tim," Selina says firmly. "Heat's coming up. We're gonna have to think of what to do."

She gets up and starts picking up; places dishes in the cupboard, puts away leftover food, throws away trash. "What are you doing?" Tim asks, frowning.

"Cleaning up," she says simply. "If we gotta run, it's nice to leave a clean apartment. Worse comes to worse, I can wipe the place down for fingerprints. That'll be a little more difficult; I'll need some help."

"Whoa, wait," Tim says, getting up, rushing toward her. "They can't prove we killed her! It's not over yet, Batman will get out there and make sure-"

"Oh yeah, Batman will be totally on our side!" Selina laughs. "We break into her house and there's an amethyst necklace missing, and a woman with a bullet in her head and no explanation, not even a mention of this guy who actually did it. Whoever he is, he's covering his tracks and we better do the same."

Tim halts in his steps, watching Selina work, eyes widening as she stands on tiptoe to take down her Derringer. She checks for bullets, and Tim can only stare.

Working...against Batman?

Running from Batman?

He had spent most of his life running _to_ Batman.

"Where...where would we go?" he breathes.

"Anywhere," she responds, takes out some paper towel, sprinkles some water on it. "We should probably get to Midtown, try to blend in. We'll lie low until the heat's off."

"But-" Tim starts and then his phone rings. He takes it out of the yoga pants pocket, and when he sees the caller ID, he frowns. He glances at the TV, sees Stray still jumping the fence, now there's Commissioner Gordon giving what he thinks to the news.

And that dorky picture of Conner Kent is on the phone and the ringtone is still playing.

"Who is it?" Selina asks, voice deep and serious, unlike anything Tim has ever heard from her.

"Conner," he whispers.

"Don't answer it," she says firmly. The emerald in her eyes is hard and cold. "Don't answer anything."

Tim puts his phone on the coffee table, hating to let the ringtone just play over and over, wondering what Conner is thinking right now.

 _No, he just wants to talk, he knows I knew Alicia Caldwell and he wants my take on it-_

" _Hey, Tim,"_ the voicemail says and Tim relaxes a little at Conner's voice, he hasn't heard it in a while. _"Just wanted to check in on you, cause your dad called me. I mean can you believe it, the mighty Wayne himself called lowly me and wanted to know where you were. He, um. Sounded mad. You better call him back or I'm scared he'll ground you. And that'd be terrible. So get back to me when you can, 'kay?"_

Bruce. He called Conner Kent because Tim had told him that he was staying with Conner and when Bruce told him to leave, Tim left Alfred with the idea that he _would be_ staying with Conner. He suspects the figure on the TV, wondering about Stray, wondering about Catwoman.

And Bruce just found out that Tim hasn't been with Conner for a long time. That the pretty tapestry he put in front of Bruce's eyes has a hole in it now and it's getting bigger as Stray jumps the fence one more time.

"Don't call Bruce," Selina says. "He's onto us and if you call him, he'll have your location down. Your phone is tied to his computers. He'll trip us."

"Selina, Bruce isn't my enemy," Tim responds, turning sharply towards her. "And I'm not his."

"Baby, everybody has you on the other side of justice," she says, coming closer to him, still that hard and almost angry look on her face. "And there's one person he's loved more than anybody and that's Justice herself. Don't burn yourself, Tim, don't do that to yourself."

"I'm not burning myself," Tim says, picking up his phone. "If I call him and tell him the whole thing, he'll believe me and we won't have to run."

"Tim," and she grabs his wrist, "You call him and after all the pretty lies you've put before his face, it won't make sense, it won't come together. He'll believe you have something to cover. He knows you all too well. You're his baby Robin. Use Stray as a shield."

"A shield?!" Tim demands, wrenching his hand away. "I don't need to protect myself from Bruce!"

"Okay then, what happens to me?" Selina asks, her voice coming deeper, like a cat's defensive hiss. "We're in this together. You think Batman's gonna believe that the guy with Catwoman was just playing? No, Tim, we're in too deep. We've gone too far."

 _We've gone too far._

Tim can't tear his eyes away from hers. He can't betray her. He can't let her alone, he can't give her up to Batman and therefore to the police. And she's so right, so right Tim has trouble grasping it; Bruce wouldn't believe that all the lies he put before him would be dashed in a moment like this just to cover his tracks. He can't explain it away. Bruce wouldn't believe him.

And betray the woman who has taken him in, who set him free? Who has spent more time with him than anybody has in a long time, who didn't think he was a failure or a disappointment, who actually lived as if he existed?

She's right. They've gone too far.

Bruce probably already believes that Tim has betrayed _him_.

So he nods, loosens his grip on his phone. And the glints leave Selina's eyes and sighs. "I...I just want to protect you," she says softly.

Tim bites his lip, works the callouses in his hands nervously. "What do we do?"

She smiles, her hands rubbing up and down his arms. "We plan," she says. "We know that Bruce is on to this. He knows you're not with your buddy, so he'll be calling all over. He'll eventually call you."

Tim blinks – _right when I do something wrong,_ _ **then**_ _he'll call, yeah sure –_ and nods.

"We'll go to Midtown, Gainsly area, we'll change up our looks so no one recognizes us. You need a haircut," she chuckles. "We'll figure out what to do from there. We leave in an hour."

Running and hiding and who knows what else. Tim just nods and picks up his computer, heads back to his room.

He places it in his backpack, getting read to leave... again. He changes clothes and finds Dick's sweater, puts that on. His hair has gotten a little longer than he usually has it, so he uses an elastic to pull it back, even though it can't hold it all and some strands come loose. He takes out a baseball cap to use for later on, just in case.

But he pauses in his work when he picks up his notebook and pen, and he flips through it. He's scribbled down some thoughts on previous cases, some observations he's made over the past week. Even a small drawing here and there; a doodle of the S that stands for hope, double lined.

And then the hard edged bat right next to it.

 _I'm so sorry, Kon._

But then he turns to a new blank page and writes down the phone number that's written in the velvet box that he memorized simply by staring at it for such a long time. Alicia Caldwell's home address, and everything he knows about the stranger in the house: the glasses, the thin curve of his lips, estimated age, weight and height. Clothing and shoes, with little notes like "maybe" and "thing to remember". He writes down every detail he can remember about tonight, from the time they broke up the deal to the rush back home.

 _We're leaving_ is the last thing he scratches in. The blue pen smears.

He's not going to just let the police conclude that Catwoman and Stray killed Alicia Caldwell. He's been raised on justice and justice can mean a lot of things: bringing crime to light but also proving the innocent is a couple of them. Yes, he and Catwoman did unlawfully break into a house, but Alicia Caldwell did not die at their hands.

There is a true murderer and a true thief here.

Tim folds up the notebook and puts it in his backpack. He pauses then and sees the envelope with Bruce's handwriting on the front.

He did bring the letter.

There's something in it, a promise that he's carried for years. He wonders if it still applies, if Bruce remembers it at all.

He picks the envelope up but doesn't open it, just stares at the handwriting.

Just _Tim_.

"Baby, you ready?" Selina calls, changed into a black turtleneck and jeans, black fleece coat already on.

"Yeah," Tim responds. He takes a deep breath, manages a small smile for her. "Let's go."

She nods and watches him sling the backpack over his shoulder.

"Oh, I've got to call somebody before we go," she mutters, "It may set us off, and it'll be a bit of a shock to anyone who redials it."

Tim pauses in front of the door as she clicks in a number on her home phone. She smiles sneakily at him. "Hey, Pam," she says quickly. "Hey, can you keep my cats for an undetermined amount of time?"


	8. Chapter 8

"You should get some sleep," Selina says, looking over to Tim in the passenger seat, street lamp and headlights zipping over him as they travel down Yeavely South, the roads humming low beneath them. Her hands are still sweaty, there's a pressure in her chest from anxiety that hasn't left since they fled her apartment.

Tim looks up at the city-lit dark orange sky before them and shakes his head. "No," he says quietly. "I can't sleep now."

Selina frowns and turns back to the worn out roads. _Wow,_ she thinks with a tired sigh. _I really screwed it all up tonight._

It's hard enough to believe that Tim trusted her enough to follow her, to obey her commands not to talk to his friend, to lead him on this wild goose chase out of North Gotham. They left the amethyst pendant on Tim's firm order, Pamela Isley has the cats by now, and they're moving far away.

There's gifts and curses to be found in living in the middle of the busy streets of Midtown. Gifts are that there's so many people, it'll be easy to get lost, and they can easily move around, even get to Pennsylvania if they need to. Curses: they'll be close to Wayne Tower, and the blue boys will be coming up from Downtown. And if Batman has anything to do with this, it'll be difficult to _stay_ lost.

Tim had become silent, lost in his thoughts, and the insecurity that she had struggled to clear away when he first walked into her home came back full force. Who could blame him? Selina didn't even try to resist the temptation to burgle and she had tricked him into believing that they were going to stop crime together, not become a part of it. There were police cars a long way away from them, detectives concluding that Catwoman and Stray had killed Alicia Caldwell and there may even be a Batman turning his watchful angry eye towards them.

Tim looks back down at his phone, taps in new letters that will lead him someplace else, face hard with concentration and study. _Tock, tock, tock,_ constantly, never ending, the annoying clicking his phone makes when he's typing furiously.

"Can you tell that thing to shut up?" Selina mutters dryly.

Tim doesn't answer, only glances nervously up at her, but she sees his thumb turn to the side of the device and it's silent now as he continues typing.

She's not helping the situation, she realizes. You don't antagonize a fellow fugitive.

"What are you looking up?" Selina asks, a little quieter, looking back and forth from the road to Tim.

"Alicia Caldwell's history," he replies. "If there's any reason for dangerous people like that guy to follow her."

"Some people are just cruel," she says.

"I know," Tim replies and she knows that. She knows it well. His entire life has been affected by cruel people.

"But some actually have some motives," he continues. "And I don't see anything except-"

"Tim, are you sure that's a good idea?" Selina interrupts and she can see from the corner of her eye, his head jerking up from the phone.

"Why not?"

"Baby, the cops are on our tail, and from what we know from the news is that nobody seems to suspect that it could be anybody else who killed Caldwell except for us," she says firmly. "No; we run from this until they think we've gone and only then can we live our lives normally again. I've been through this before."

"But we didn't do it," Tim answers, pulling against the seat belt to focus harder on her. "Somebody did but it wasn't us. They need to know that, they need to know that whoever this guy is had a target and he let us – the burglars – go. Now why would anybody do that-"

"I don't know—"

"- unless he had a personal vendetta against Alicia."

"You trying to prove something to your dad?" Selina asks suddenly and once the words are past her mouth, she regrets them. Tim's dad is such a sensitive subject.

Tim halts and is lost on what to say for a moment. He shakes his head as if to clear it, shifting in the seat to get a better focus on her.

"Batman would want to know," he blurts out. "And anyway...he _needs_ to know, Selina." And Tim pauses, looking down at his phone and then he clicks it into sleep and when he speaks again, his voice is quiet. Sad.

"Selina, I don't want to be running forever from him. I'm just...putting walls in front of us, more walls than there were before. Dick asked me to hold on and I'm not doing enough."

Selina's finger taps slowly on the steering wheel. "Sweetie, you've done so much for so long."

"I _know_ that," Tim replies. "But this is different. No…no." and he sits back into the passenger seat, looks out the window. The headlights of the cars driving by slide across his face, light to dark, dark to light.

He doesn't finish whatever it is that he's trying to say.

"What will we do?" he finally asks.

"There's a place on the outskirts of Gainsly that we can stay in," Selina answers. "The, uh...owner...owes me."

Tim looks up, and with the flashing lights she can see the blue of his eyes in the corner of her own. "Yeah, I guess that is how it works in the real world."

"No, that's how it works in a fragmented one," she replies. And there's a long slow silence, until she whispers, "Go back to sleep, baby."

He doesn't right away, folding his arms over his chest, just leaning his head against the window.

And this is miserable. This is wrong, but there's nothing else to do, nothing can change. At 3 o'clock in the morning, the senseless feeling and questions on what everybody else might be planning while they drive down this crazy road fills Selina's mind.

Maybe some of them are lucky and they're not driving away with their lives.

* * *

"Timmy," a soft whisper invading the dark. "Timmy, wake up, baby; we're here."

Tim sits up and opens his eyes, feeling an ache on one side of his head where he was pressed to the window pane. There's a weird red and yellow glow over the dashboard and when he leans forward he sees a sign in blaring capitals, "VACANCY". The Y dims weakly.

It's almost four o'clock in the morning and when Tim looks around, he sees they're parked alongside a long row of adjoining buildings, the street is speckled with litter and rust along the pipes that snake their way across the bricks. Harsh yellow light. Across the street is a bar, still lit and pulling in profit by the masses.

"Where are we?" Tim breathes.

"We're at Corlie's, just outside Gainsly," Selina answers, shutting off the engine. "We can stay here for as long as we need."

She gets out and so does Tim, shouldering his backpack and gripping his cap. He takes a deep breath of freezing night air along with a restaurant's aroma, simmering gasoline and the contents of a dumpster a few yards away, he follows Selina up the cracked brick steps to the front door.

It'd make a nice townhouse if it was fixed up. There's still some signs that it once belonged to somebody who loved it, with the sign in the snowed in garden that says "herbs" in swirled design, but there's specks of rust along the sides. The black metal fence is rickety, and a cat on the step uncurls itself to get a look at the two of them.

Inside the building, the world is covered in dark brown, dusty cherry wood and vintage carpet, a certain smell of beer and perhaps a cheeseburger here and there. There's a man behind a bar with a bald head and a short dark beard, tomato-stained apron covering a blue t-shirt. He looks up from drying tumblers as Selina and Tim walk in.

Selina glances back towards him, mouthing, "Put your cap on," and Tim covers his head, keeping his eyes more or less on the ground. But he can't help watching Selina go up to the man and her sneaky smile spreading over her face. "Hey Willie," she says quietly.

Willie, the man behind the bar, raises a bushy eyebrow at her and says, "Well hey, hey, Miss Kyle. What cannae do for you?"

"Gimme a room for two, no questions asked," she answers just as silkily. Tim notices the man's dark eyes dart towards him. Tim stuffs his hands into his pockets, not turning away, but not reciprocating eye-contact.

"Who's your friend, Sadie?" Willie asks.

 _Sadie? Sadie Kyle?_

"I said no questions," Selina keeps her smile. "I believe it was...six months ago? This place was about to go under. That uh...pretty emerald pair of earrings? Fetched a pretty penny and I believe the deal bought me a lifetime membership here."

Tim swallows. A lifetime membership here. He wonders what the earrings looked like.

Interesting.

"I know our deal," Willie mutters dubiously. "Cannae trust 'im?"

"He's with me. That's all you need to know."

"What room?"

"Just let me see the city lights from the window."

Willie twitches, going to the cash register and stirring a pile of colorful keys, eventually pulling out a little bronze one. "Here you go," he says. "No shenanigans."

"Have I ever brought shenanigans here?" Selina says, snatching the keys with a glint in her eyes.

"You've never brought a boy here."

Tim frowns. Selina pauses, flicking the key chain in her hand with a dry smile, an... _emotionless_ smile. "That sounds like a hidden question."

"I didn't ask one though," Willie shakes a finger at her.

"He's my _son_ ," Selina says coldly. "That's all I'm givin'. Good night. Or good morning, more like it."

Selina jerks around, grabbing Tim's elbow and almost dragging him towards the old wood staircase leading up to the rooms. The steps are steep, indicating their age, going around two times. The carpet covering it was once red and is now a dusty maroon. Selina steps firmly leading Tim to believe she's used to it. His sneakers bump into the edges.

They head to the farthest room in the single hallway, and Selina moves quickly. Shoving the key in and twisting hard, coming into the room and once Tim is in, she closes it with a slam, locking and then tries to turn the knob, she seems satisfied when it doesn't budge.

"Safety measures," she mutters.

Tim looks around the room, putting his backpack on one of the two beds, sees a little worn desk against the window, large enough for his laptop. Notices some chipping on the painted dark mauve wall. He turns on the lamp on the nightstand in between the two beds and then sits down on one. "It's nice," he says, touching the phone set on the nightstand. But Selina sniffs.

"Smells like moth balls," she says, peering in the closet.

"And roses," Tim says with a small smile, reaching out to touch the dried bouquet that hangs from a white ribbon on the bed frame opposite him.

Selina chuckles, then goes to the window and moves the sheer curtains, narrowing her eyes at the city. Tim knows she's looking for the red and blue and white of police cars. She's listening for the scream that Tim hears on a regular basis.

"I'm going to take a shower again; I just don't even care," she says, waving the curtains back across the window. "Then I'm gonna try and get some sleep, okay?"

"Okay," Tim says and then she pauses and her expression changes, the one where her eyes stop flicking around and she bites her lip, looks deep into his face. "What is it?"

"I'm..." and she sighs, shakes her head. "I...really screwed up tonight. And I'm sorry I put you through that."

Tim bows his head, shrugs. "I mean, it's okay but- just...that's not who I want to be."

"I know," she says quickly. "I know. I used you. And I'm sorry for that."

Tim winces, gets up off the creaky bed and stands before her, just whispers, "It's okay."

And then she smiles and pulls him close. She strokes his hair, rubs his side, kisses the top of his head. "I'm gonna get you out of this, kitten. Mama Selina's gonna get you out of this." she whispers.

Tim takes a deep breath, closing his eyes, his wants and needs hissing _just rest just rest just rest_ but then his eyes open.

To get out.

 _The only way out is to prove that we didn't do it._ It's to get whoever was in there cornered and with no chance of escape.

Flip the odds back. Let _him_ be the one who's running away.

"Selina," he whispers, pulling back, but she won't let him out of her hold. "The only way we can get out is if we get justice on our side."

She tucks some of his hair behind his ear, almost careless. He wonders if she's listening. "Huh. That'll be hard."

"Yeah, but we can do it," he says, but she won't look him in the eye. "Selina. We can call that number and find out who it is. Who really killed Alicia Caldwell."

And now her green eyes sparkle at him, and her eyebrows come down in suspicion. "Call him? That's...that's out of this world levels of dangerous."

"No, he's using us as a cover," Tim replies. "He's making us seem like the murderers so that he's not involved. We call this number, we get in touch with him and we act all buddy with him until we figure out who he is and report him to the authorities."

"The authorities are onto us, Tim," Selina says slowly, carefully. "We won't be able to touch them with a ten-foot pole."

"But _Batman_ ," Tim whispers and Selina takes a deep breath, shaking her head at the mere mention of Batman. "If we have evidence," Tim continues on, "then we can prove our innocence to him. That's the way justice works."

Selina, tilting her head, reads him, processes his words. She's silent for a moment until, "It's worth a try. And if it doesn't work?"

And Tim blinks, can't figure out what to say. He has to look away from her gaze, has to focus on her hold.

He knows that no matter what, he'll never be able to let Bruce go. Never be able to let Dick, and Jason, and Steph and Cass and Barbara – _Conner –_ and the life he knew once behind him.

But when he looks back up at Selina, he sees someone who won't ever lock him away. She won't ever let him go. Despite it all.

"We run, I guess," he whispers.

"Hm," Selina says, rubbing up and down Tim's back. "We'll have to run a little farther away." Now she lets him go and but places her hands on his shoulders. "Let's call the man," she almost growls.

Tim turns around and faces the beige phone on the nightstand and Selina pulls a notebook out of the drawer. "He recognized you," Tim says. "You wanna talk to him?"

"He knows you better; he graced you with an amethyst pendant," she says, sitting on the bed, curling her legs under her. "You talk to him."

Tim nods, but he can hear his heart beat quicken a little bit. He pulls his notebook out of his backpack and sits on the bed opposite Selina. He picks up the cradle, looks at the phone number and types it all in. He turns it on speakerphone and then puts the cradle on the nightstand.

Dial tone, one, two three times. Selina and Tim stare at each other, waiting.

A slow even voice answers.

" _Who is this?"_

Selina points a finger at Tim.

Tim swallows and takes a deep breath.

"Stray."


	9. Chapter 9

**A/N: Sorry this chapter is late! Got some help from my sister ThePatriette (who rocks okay, go check her work out on here) and this chapter has finally arrived. The next one will come sooner. Promise. Please review! :)**

The word is playing itself over and over in his head, _Stray, Stray, Stray_ , a new identity that he was starting to want and now was a little daunted to wear, and he remembers what it was like when he looked into the mirror and saw someone different.

There's a touch of static on the line or maybe it's something the man on the other side of the phone is meddling with. Maybe a piece of paper.

" _Yeah, kiddo, I know you. In fact, I think all of Gotham knows you now, I saw you on TV. How are you doing?"_

Tim blinks up at Selina who is staring at the phone, her eyes dark and searching.

"I wanted...to thank you. For getting me out of that."

 _It's the weirdest disguise Tim has ever worn._

The man chuckles. _"I should probably introduce myself as Blackmail."_

Selina writes the name down furiously. A name like Blackmail could mean too many things all at once.

"Blackmail," Tim says, slow and careful, "You gave me this number to request an...appointment. C-can you just explain to me what that means-"

" _Oh, I guess you're new around here,"_ Blackmail chuckles, his voice light and easy. " _You need some help getting what you need? What you want? Now look."_

Selina stops writing.

" _I wanna help you out. Okay? I wanna help you. You looked like you needed it, and you know, sticking around with Catwoman isn't the best you could do. She's gonna drag you around everywhere and if you use burglary tactics like breaking into a home you don't even know is secure, you're going down and you're going down fast."_

Selina shrugs, rolls her eyes. Tim doesn't even know what that is supposed to mean.

"So what do you suggest?"

" _I offered my services back at the Caldwell Mansion and I'll offer them again,"_ Blackmail breathes softly, invitingly. " _You schedule an appointment with me and I will make sure you can break into a house, you can take what you want, as much as you want, and I will keep you clean. I'll cover your tracks, I'll throw suspicion at whoever comes around; the mother, the father, the politician who wants to get out of scandal. I'll make it so that everyone will suspect everybody else...but you."_

"So what happened tonight- last night?" Tim asks in a monotone.

" _There wasn't an appointment, Stray,"_ Blackmail says, sounding like he's smiling, smiling like it's easy, it's fun. " _You didn't know I was there. I was Alicia Caldwell's official bodyguard."_

Alicia Caldwell's bodyguard. Newspaper clippings, pictures of her from the press, maybe the man known as Blackmail will be there and Tim can-

"Why are you doing this?"

" _Kiddo, I just want to help,"_ Blackmail almost whispers, his voice low and even. " _I was born and raised here and you know as well as I do that there's been a lot of suffering in Gotham by the hands of the rich, the gluttons who roll around in money and never think of people like us. So just think of me...as Robin Hood."_

Robbing the rich to feed the poor.

When it was more like helping the poor rob the rich and then tossing the blame and the loss and the blood on the rich.

The levels kept tipping and swaying on each other and the Woman in white, she who Selina said Batman loved the most, visibly flinched under her blindfold.

" _Hey,"_ Blackmail breathes after a moment of silence, " _You and Catwoman come on and meet me at nine tonight. There's an alley near the pizza parlor, Prezzini's, close by East City Park. We can talk some more then."_

Tim shut his eyes tightly, feeling a sudden hard pressure on his right temple, _nerves, nerves it's just nerves, calm down- "_...okay."

" _See you then."_ A single click and Blackmail is gone.

Selina's eyes turn on him and there's something in her face that Tim hasn't seen in a long time and it's a little shocking; the way her eyebrows are turned up, and the tremble in her lip as she struggles to find words, and the green in her eyes isn't the same glinting emerald.

"Baby… _don't,"_ she whispers.

Too late, too late-

Quick like a flash of lightning, Selina's finger darts to the handset and she slams down on the handset button. "No, no, no," she says, rapid-fire, "he's after you, kitten. Don't do this."

"But I'm after him too," Tim says, getting up, unzipping the backpack and taking out his laptop. His hands are shaky.

"No, we don't have to go tonight. We have to go undercover. We start over together and don't come back to the scene." Selina gets up too, standing in front of him, and when his hand turns up the laptop lid, her hands slams it back down. "We are _running_."

"I told you what I was going to do," Tim hisses, feeling the burn in his chest, "I'm going to throw the odds back to him. He will run. Batman will find him."

"This isn't about Batman!" Selina exclaims. "This is about you!"

Tim winces. That sentence.

It's one piece to a jigsaw puzzle back at home that he completed with Jason once. The piece that just wasn't quite right, close, close enough to ignore it, even accept it. And Jay said it was fine. But it never was.

No other pieces fit that particular one.

He shakes his head, "No, this...this is about Alicia Caldwell."

Selina turns away from him, hand on hip and the other running through her hair, then fingers pinching the bridge of her nose. Tim pulls up the laptop lid.

"If we go over there tonight," Selina murmurs, "and you don't like what you hear, tell me that you'll run with me."

There are words to be said, but Tim can't say them.

"Tell me you'll run," she repeats, louder, sharper.

"I can't promise you that."

Honest, blunt and hard.

Selina turns slightly, and Tim can see the strands of black hair falling back into her face. "If I don't like what I hear...I can and will run."

Tim swallows, looks down at his hands, at the turning of the progress wheel at system start-up.

How did he end up this way?

"I can't afford the risk," Selina says, folding her arms over her chest, tapping her shoe on the ground.

"Because this is about you," Tim whispers.

"Oh yeah," she says loud and clear, looking back at him with that smile that he's been under for the past week, "Yeah, you're right. A girl does what she has to do to survive. I'm not going back to jail and I'm not gonna be under Batman's eyes and I'm sure not gonna get turned in by Blackmail. What if he fails, Tim? What if his pretty game falls through? Then you and I are going to jail for murder and theft, and see where your daddy is then."

"I'm making sure that doesn't happen."

Selina stares at him, her eyes narrowed, smile still there. She laughs a little and scuffs her shoe against the old carpet. "Okay."

"You don't believe me?"

Selina is silent for a moment and then, "I want to," she says simply.

But she walks away from him in silence, her face emotionless. She takes her bag with her to the bathroom and then closes the door, leaving Tim in the room by himself.

The computer has been at the desktop for a long time now. He launches the browser, opens up five empty tabs at once and starts typing rapidly.

Alicia Caldwell.

Gotham City news.

 _Ugh, where was she the last time I saw her, did I see Blackmail before, maybe she was at some sort of a charity event Bruce had, maybe-_

And he remembers, types in "december 2014 charity ball wayne manor" and he knows it well because he had a migraine that fateful night and it was a good thing he was home.

Bruce left the ball to check in on him. He found Tim throwing up in the bathroom, helped him through it and made sure he was focused enough to take a shower, to calm down, to keep from passing out. Bruce didn't go back and Dick took over the charming duties. Bruce stayed until the party was over, until Tim was asleep.

But right before Tim had decided to drop off the face of the earth he saw Alicia Caldwell, dressed in a white sleeveless dress, glittering in the light, and it contrasted beautifully against the dark of her hair and eyes, her sparkling smile and open heart. She asked if he was alright and Alicia Caldwell was the first one to find out that Bruce Wayne's third son was really not well at all.

Tim folds his arms across his chest, trying to push away the harsh memory of just a few hours ago. The bullet in her forehead, the momentary cry of pain, and she was gone.

He's cold in this place. The condensation is building on the window that glows with street lamp light, and there's a car pulling up, engine rumbling and tires crushing old concrete.

The shower runs in the bathroom.

The Internet access crawls.

Gotham city news only loads about halfway and Tim winces at numerous features of the website that just gave up on arriving. A picture of Alicia Caldwell's smiling face from a long time ago, a grainy photo of the blood splattered on the wall, and the screaming headline, "Young Philanthropist Brutally Murdered in Home". And there's Catwoman racing away and there's Stray, halfway across the fence.

The constant question in the summary article, " _Where is the Batman?"_

The December 2014 Charity Event loads for the most part, and there's press pictures of Bruce and Mr. Fox, and Dick is there too. An interview with Alicia Caldwell.

Tim prays the Internet will allow him one video. Just one.

Tim waits twenty minutes for the three minute video. The red numbers on the old radio clock turn to 6:00.

He plugs his earbuds into the computer and listens to the voice, studies the smile, looks into the sweet face.

The interviewer is asking about how many people are there, what kind of reception they're getting, plans for the next year. How will Christmas be for the poor of Gotham city?

And as she gives high hopes for the next year, explains how many people will be having a real Christmas for the first time in the slums of the Narrows, Tim's eyes latch on to a man in a tuxedo, blurred and out of focus. But Tim can still see the man turn back to and fro from the Wayne Manor staircase to Miss Caldwell and her interview. He is holding a glass of champagne in his hand, and the other is reaching for something...something…

Tim leans forward, pauses the video. The man's hand is close to his ear and he's murmuring something. An earpiece, a communication device. And he looks all around, studying the bust of Bruce's great-grandfather on the ornate table in the foyer.

Tim's fingers glide over the keyboard, click over shift, and control and the number three, saving a picture of the screen to his desktop. He can't be certain, not entirely, but there's a chance the man in the video could be Blackmail.

He was Alicia's bodyguard, he would be there, close by. The earpiece would be explained away by saying that he was communicating with another one unless…

Unless that was the communication between him and the burglar he had an appointment with.

Scheduled burglary indeed.

But no one ever reported anything missing from Wayne Manor that night. Alfred didn't mention Martha Wayne's pearls or any silverware simply walking off the property.

Tim can't explain that away.

He shakes his head, gets up and walks around. He has to go to Blackmail tonight and he already knows he won't like what he hears.

What if Selina leaves him?

She'll be safer without him, they'll be able to split up. And whatever happens to Tim, won't happen to Selina. She'll be better off. But he can't help wondering what it would be like, to be on the run with her. She said she wanted him happy, she wanted him safe, she wanted him free.

Free, free, Tim wanted to be free, he had a small taste of it when he was flying through the air as Stray.

But in this case, he wouldn't be free. Selina wouldn't be free either, because running with the name of murderer over your head undeserved is not freedom, no matter what she says about how it's about Tim, it's about Selina, it's about getting away from Batman. Freedom is justification.

And Tim was never made to run from Batman. He's always wanted to run to him.

How can he earn that back?

The _right_ to run. Selina has it. Tim's worried he doesn't.


	10. Chapter 10

**A/N: Oh my gosh it's finally here! It has gotten out of its state of stuck-ness. Thank you all for the wonderful reviews, for encouraging me to keep it up. Love you guys.**

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Incidentally, Selina hates East City Park. It's all too much like a white-washed tomb, pretty things carefully, painstakingly covering the ugly things. The park is like a safe haven that laughs away the darkness that may be around every single corner but you have to enter that dark in order to get in and out.

It makes her feel empty.

So for Blackmail to request Catwoman and Stray's presence there is no mind-puzzler. Once they enter the park and take the street that Prezini's is on, it will be pretty easy to blend into the dark. They may even have access to his hideout.

She watches Tim carefully from the corner of her eye as he moves rapidly like a snake, watching everything, always alert. She's sure that he's not thinking of anything else, because he's just like his adoptive father. Never being distracted by what she knows is a familiar place for Tim.

It's not like she doesn't know that Nightwing and Red Robin hung around the pizza parlor, and even the oldest birdie would take a chance and order pizza in his nighttime identity.

No. There's a mission, it's been hammered into Tim Drake-Wayne's head, and the mission must always be successful.

Why did she think that could ever change for Tim? That there might be other more important things to focus on than running wildly around trying to fix the innate nature of mankind, other better interests to pursue?

Like himself? 

Stray glances at her, signals that he's crossing the open way to the alley across the street and she nods sharply. Tim sticks to the shadows, it's embedded in his very being to, and it's been in her all her life.

The dark of the alley is almost sickening with both the smell of trash somewhere and the greasy pizza being baked just next door, mixed with rain and cold. Her eyes scan for glints of movement in the black, and a passing car with gleaming headlights reveals a small flare of green.

A pair of glasses, similar to their own, with the dark green taint.

Stray freezes. But he doesn't flinch, doesn't take a step back, just stands there straight, like he's not scared.

But he may be used to sneaking up on someone from behind, scaring people to death. He's not used to planned meetings with his enemies.

"Follow me," a low, almost gentle voice from the dark murmurs. It's a split second and they're trailing Blackmail; Selina relies on sound, she's used to it, Tim takes logical ways and is probably calculating their distance, their speed, determining their end destination.

Blackmail moves like they do, like a ghost, weaving his way through the park, gluing himself to walls. Selina notes his massive frame, how he knows the streets like the back of his hand. Somebody that knowledgeable has always been someone to be concerned about. If you know Gotham that well, she may be a good friend of yours.

And then they're tracing through the sides of a small apartment complex, that curves in on itself, surrounding everything with their towering, broken down buildings.

Blackmail pauses to glance around the complex and then climbs up to the second floor by gripping the balcony railings. They follow, but Selina slows down, studying his every move.

Blackmail hastily unlocks the door to one of the apartment buildings and rushes in.

Selina suddenly stops, his boots scraping against the concrete, and Tim looks back at her. With the way that his mouth is turned, and the incline of his head she can tell, even without looking into his eyes, that he's doubtful too, he's hesitant. But he's going in, no matter his fears.

But then Blackmail hisses, his black silhouette harsh against a light streaming from the apartment, "Please! Enter my humble abode!"

Selina looks hard at Blackmail, at the open door, now shining fresh warm light, quite like a humble abode, but is this what burglars do? Simply invite other burglars into their homes?

Something Tim is definitely not used to.

But he doesn't hold back, follows Blackmail in. Selina feels suddenly awkward, and her hand instinctively reaches for Tim's. Leather rubbing against leather, claws interlocking, but once they're in, she lets go, and Blackmail slams the door.

He's dressed in black, with dark cargo pants and suspenders over a black turtleneck sweater, and those glasses conceal his identity just like theirs. His combat boots stomp against the ground as he shuts the blinds, pulls curtains on every window.

The apartment is dimly light, with a few uncovered light bulbs hanging over the kitchen counter-top that can't be more than ten feet away, an ancient TV in the corner, a few pistols on the wood table in the center of the room. Bare spaces contrast against stuff crowded together. Books. Books everywhere.

"It's nice isn't it?" Blackmail says with a soft smile. "I try to make it friendly."

"Yeah it's real chic," Selina dares to smile back, crossing her arms over her chest. "Unless you've already notified the police that we're here."

Blackmail stops, still gripping a curtain, still facing the window. "Why would I do that to you?" he asks slowly.

"I don't trust you," she retorts sharply.

"He does," he answers, looking back at Stray, that smile bringing lines across his face, indicating age, worn and...warmth. "You trust me, don't you, little stray?"

Tim doesn't answer, but his hands tighten into fists; he's nervous, Selina's seen him do that plenty of times while he's been with her. "I don't understand you," he finally says, sounding genuinely curious.

Some emotions can escape when you're not under the shadow of the Bat.

"Let me enlighten you then," Blackmail says, raising his glasses and revealing blue-grey eyes that are disarming and almost otherworldly, not seeming to belong to someone like him. "Like I told you last time we talked, I'm just trying to help. I don't know your background, and frankly, I don't understand you either. How do I know that _you've_ not already notified the police that _I'm_ here?" A poignant glance at Catwoman.

"See, we're gonna have to _trust_ each other," Blackmail says, his hands coming together to signify the union. "That's how we survive. Everybody who is like us, who isn't... _privileged_...like some, we have to stick together and only then are we strong."

"Not everybody is like that," Stray breathes, and Blackmail stares at him, smile becoming dead if not gone altogether. "Alicia Caldwell wasn't like most 'privileged'. She cared about us."

Selina swallows, bites her lip.

"How do you know that, Stray?" Blackmail asks, taking a few steps toward him, folding his arms over his chest.

Tim shrugs, shakes his head. "She did all sorts of things for us. She...gave Christmas to the kids in the Narrows. I remember that."

Easy, gentle, truth-like lies, and Tim's innocence with a touch of damage emanates. Catches onto Blackmail's sleeves.

"Huh," he murmurs, one eyebrow coming down in thought. "I think I remember that. She had a big party at that Wayne guy's place."

 _No, no, no-_

"And you were there," Tim replies.

Selina closes her eyes, shifts her weight from one foot to another.

"Hey, how'd you know that?" Blackmail chuckles, seemingly impressed with Stray's knowledge.

"I saw a video of her and I think you were there. That was you, right?"

Blackmail laughs again and nods, "Yeah that was me. I was working a job there, somebody _scheduled_ an appointment." Emphasis, because he wants to remind Tim to _make an appointment, make an appointment._

"Oh?" Tim smiles a quiet, interested smile, because he's such a good liar, he's craving information, but taking it all in like a child with chocolate. Savoring. Slow.

"Yeah. It didn't work out though, some stuff happened. And then Wayne left the designated area so yeah, it fell through."

"You couldn't have just done it without him?"

"Well, he was supposed to be part of the equation. He was supposed to be with that guy-" Blackmails snaps his fingers, trying to recall, "-yeah, Lucius Fox, his right hand man. Wayne's drink was supposed to be poisoned. It'd look really bad on Fox, especially when the charity funds that _he_ was supposed to be handling were suddenly... _inexplicably_ gone."

Selina stares. Tim breathes, "Wow."

His heart must be racing a mile a minute.

Blackmail smiles and nods in pride. He turns and picks up a bottle on the scratched wood table and pours some cheap wine into two glass tumblers. "It was a good plan. But there were lots of conditions. And Wayne just up and left the party and so it didn't go through." He turns and hands the glasses to Selina and Tim. "See how detailed all the work is though? Fox was gonna seem like a big money-grubber, who felt that he wasn't being paid enough or something. One of the Wayne kids would then take on the work from their poor dead daddy and everybody would think Fox was going to manipulate them into giving him what he wanted."

Selina glances at Tim, tempted to tell him, _no, baby, you're under eighteen, don't drink that crap_ , but she can see that he's keeping his hands still against the glass because they're shaking, he's staring at the wine because if he didn't, he'd lose his cool.

Panic.

"It just didn't work out that time. Thing you need to know about me, Stray, is that I'm a good storyteller."

Say that again.

"Some would say that I'm a good liar."

Aren't we all?

"I just do a good job for good people," Blackmail says, leaning down a little to catch Stray's eyes. "They deserve it."

Tim looks up at Blackmail and nods, small smile appearing on his face. "So you're...willing to help us?"

Blackmail's face is soft, and he tilts his head slightly, studying Tim's face. Like he's trying to peer through the glasses to his eyes. "You bet," he replies quietly. "People like you, you've suffered too much at the hands of those monsters like Wayne, like Caldwell. I wanna give them a scare, I wanna help you. 'Cause I've been in a place not so different from yours."

Blackmail straightens, looks hard at Catwoman. "Surely you see that."

And she nods, the sooner she can get out of here the better.

He nods back, that smile growing by the second. "Let's play a game of trust. What do you want? Just tell me what you want and I will prove to you that I can pull it off for you. If I haven't already with Alicia Caldwell."

Selina has to move, so she begins to pace, listening to the tap of her heels against the dusty wood floor. Her eyes catch to the tiny things that make this place a home, the dirty dishes in the sink, the brown bathroom towels on the crowded counter-top, rolls of half-used paper towels. A laptop. A refrigerator with pictures drawn by a child, stuck to the metal with Gotham Knights magnets.

It's weirdly human for someone who doesn't seem to be.

"I want Wayne," Stray says quietly, but firmly behind her.

Selina taps her clawed finger against her side.

"You wanna retry the failed mission?" Blackmail asks after a pause, with a hint of amusement steady in his voice.

Or maybe he sounds impressed.

"Yes," Tim replies. "You take down the brightest and best of Gotham's enemies, you can take down the rest. They'll be susceptible and you'll inspire hope in the rest of us."

Selina turns around and studies Blackmail, watches the gears in his head turning over as he looks down on the ground, swirls the wine in his own glass. He nods slowly, chews the inside of his mouth, pinches his chin in thought.

"Okay," he murmurs. "Okay. That sounds good. You've thought about this."

"Hell yes," Tim responds, folding his arms over his chest, his voice dark and low. "Caldwell did ten times more for us than he has in ten years. His time is over."

Innocence mixed with anger, victim and survivor at once, Stray looks long and hard at Blackmail, as if he expect the plot to be twisted and thickened by his detail-obsessed mind.

Blackmail smiles, and his gloved fingers reach out to stroke down Stray's white face, and he whispers, "I've known someone like you. The ache, the desperation...it's what drove him. He was never avenged." Those unseemly eyes fill with memories, grief. Wrath.

"Allow me to avenge you."

He looks up at Selina, a question in his expression.

"Yeah," she whispers. "Let's take him."

Blackmail nods, "Then meet me up again tomorrow night, same time, same place. I'll have a plot made out for you." He looks back at Tim. "You'll be ready?"

Tim looks down at the untouched wine, glass still clutched in his hand. "Yeah," he says slow and thoughtful. "Yeah, I'll be ready."

And with that, Tim takes the wine down in one swallow and places the glass on the table. Selina stares as he glances back up at Blackmail and says softly, "Thank you."

He opens the door and walks out alone, Selina hesitant to follow, dying to say something, to threaten him, to dare him to take a step closer to her Stray. But the words can't form on her mouth, she can only go forward and follow the teen into the dark.

"You're lucky to have him," Blackmail whispers as she barely passes the threshold.

She looks back at him, focuses on those eyes. Odd; she can't find the malice she was looking for.

"I know," she replies and listens to the sound of Stray climbing down the balcony. "I know."

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 **Hopefully the next chapter will be up soon, I've already started work on it. If you could, please leave a review! I love to know what you guys think. :)**


	11. Chapter 11

**A/N: So. After what, six months? February Song has risen from the dead! I got so many sweet messages from people encouraging me to keep on going with it and I'm here to say, you guys deserve a good story. I'm gonna try my best. Stay tuned. 3**

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Selina bites her lip, shakes her head slowly. She runs her hands through her hair and growls deep, "No. No, absolutely not. And what were you thinking?"

"I just said that-"

"You just signed Blackmail up to kill Bruce!"

"We can lead him to _Batman_ ," Tim forces out, only now thinking about breathing, trying to grasp what should be the next step. But this argument has been going on for the last two hours, since they stepped far enough away, since the walls enclosing them seemed safe enough to argue loud enough and seriously enough.

Now the world seems tilted and he's disoriented, like everything shifted while he was running away from Blackmail.

And to think that at some point in his life, he could have lost Bruce - again - without him even being the suit. There would have been no Bat to target, just a man in his home.

But he can't afford to think about that. He's in too deep to focus on it.

He takes a deep breath, rubs his hands on his jeans. "We learn about his - ugh - plot'-" he swipes quotation marks in the air, "-tomorrow night. And then we tip him off to Batman. They can catch him this time. He's done way too much damage to everybody to just run away from this. This is our chance to stop him once and for all."

"He's too smart," Selina breathes. "He'll know."

"Not if we're careful."

Selina blinks, looks him over and then shakes her head again. "No. You have to be careful."

Tim stares at her, watches the way she takes two steps backward, figuratively, literally. She drops her eyes to the ground, eyebrows knit together because she's making a decision. Right here, right now. His mind starts racing, because there's a picture in his head of doing this by himself.

He's worked alone before.

It shouldn't bother him.

"We can…we can earn his trust-" Tim starts.

"Kitten, the moment he finds out, there'll be a bullet in your head, just like that girl's," Selina snaps, yanking off her gloves and tossing them onto the bed next to Tim. "He won't take any chances on you."

"How's he going to find out?" Tim shrugs. "I'm…" He stops, takes a shuddering breath. The words hesitate and when he finally gets them out, it's almost painful to say. "I'm not Red Robin."

The suit irritates his skin.

"You drop him off to Bruce, sure," Selina throws her hands up. "Sounds like a great idea until he realizes that you've been so naughty."

"No, I'm more careful than that," Tim answers.

"You don't get it, do you?" Selina hisses, staring hard into his eyes. "I guess you wouldn't, you don't know what it's like to live like this. In this world, you're not safe at anytime. There's nobody to back you up, there's no Daddybats to cover you. It's everybody for themselves. Who gladly does burglary jobs without some form of payment? Who does this, Tim? Nobody-"

"Blackmail does," Tim says. "He sees himself as some sort of hero."

"I suppose you do too," Selina smiles wryly. "Guess you can take the boy from the Bat, but not the Bat from the boy."

Tim swallows, feels the sweat gathering on his palms again. He can't bring himself to answer, can't find anything to say. Because she's so painfully right, there's still the black and the white contrasting each other so hard in his mind. He can't think like Selina.

He can't believe that gray even if he tried.

"It wouldn't be right," Tim whispers. "It wouldn't be right to run when we already know that he's out there."

"It's called self-preservation," Selina snarls.

"It's called responsibility," Tim bites back.

"But it's not mine. If you want it, take it. It's yours."

She steps back one final time and watches him, waiting for him to do, to say something. That's what everybody does. And he always hits a brick wall because there's all these voices in his head that are constantly watching his steps to make sure he doesn't screw up and there's no way of saying no to them.

"I told you I'd run. If I didn't like what I heard, I'd run."

And Tim nods, says, "But I didn't promise you that I would go with you."

Her eyes narrow and she sighs. She shakes her head again, walks away from Tim without another word.

Tim stays on the internet for hours into the night, sitting in the farthest corner of the room while Selina lies in silence on one of the beds. He chews on his fingernails, studying the pictures taken by the press of a small and distant figure but it's unmistakable. Batman was at the Caldwell mansion for the past two nights.

It's a wonder he actually left the cave, left the chance evidence of Damian still being alive.

The reports are chilling. From what the detectives and the police had gathered, the mansion was obviously broken into at the balcony. Alicia Caldwell was dead at the threshold of her office and bedroom and there was an amethyst necklace missing from her possessions. There weren't any security cameras set up inside, all photo evidence were taken by exterior cameras.

Tim bites his thumb, mutters, "Pictures are worth a thousand words and my word count is like... three."

He's got to figure out how to get Bruce in one place, how to convince him that it was Blackmail and not Catwoman or Stray. But Stray is all over the Gotham news, it's hard to ignore him.

He gets up and starts pacing, closing his eyes.

Slam, slam, the gavel hits the wood and the Lady Justice cries, "Order in the court!"

Tim stands up, takes a deep breath and flexes his hands in nervous worry, feeling the Robin gloves dampen with sweat. He's the defense attorney...defending himself? Batman stands up behind the table on Tim's right - the prosecution - and he's dark and looming in the Batsuit. He says in a low and growling voice, "The accusation against Timothy Jackson Drake-Wayne: the break-in of Alicia Caldwell's mansion, the theft of an amethyst necklace by him and his accomplice Selina Kyle, and the murder of Alicia Caldwell."

Wait. There's something already wrong in his mind-courtroom. Bruce is bringing an accusation against Tim. That's wrong.

He would be bringing the accusation against Stray.

Of course. What reason does Bruce have that shooting people in the head isn't Stray's MO? It's not Selina's and for all he knows or cares…Timothy Drake-Wayne is with Conner Kent.

So it's not Tim defending himself. No, it's Tim defending Stray.

Tim runs a hand through his hair, almost laughs out loud in something like dismay and actual amusement. How could he be so blind, how could he not have seen it? He's supposed to be proving Stray not guilty when all this time, he was so sidelined, so distracted by defending himself.

And all of a sudden, he's not Red Robin and he's not Stray.

He's someone more objective. He's a detective.

He's Tim.

And that's why he can't go back to Bruce and that's why he can't run. This is what justice is about.

So start over. The image is so much more clear now.

Batman stands up and with him, Alicia Caldwell in her pink bathrobe with a bullet hole in her forehead. Batman starts again. "The accusation against Stray: the break-in of Alicia Caldwell's mansion, the theft of an amethyst necklace by him and his accomplice Selina Kyle, and the murder of Alicia Caldwell."

Lady Justice tilts her head toward the defense, though unable to see who it is through the blindfold. "Defense, do you have anything to say?"

Tim takes a deep shaky breath and says, "Your Honor, the evidence against Stray and Catwoman is impressive to say the least, damning to say the most. But I'm here to prove to you and the prosecution -" a sideways glance toward Batman, "- that my client is not guilty. And I will start with three main presumptions that the prosecution has already claimed and I will prove the exact opposite to you. Number one: that someone, other than Stray, Catwoman and Alicia Caldwell was in the house. Number two: that Catwoman and Stray were not the ones who stole from Miss Caldwell's mansion. Number three: That neither Stray nor Catwoman shot and killed Alicia Caldwell."

Tim writes it all down furiously on the notebook, holding it up to the weak computer screen for light. He circles each premise number and then draws an arrow to the next empty page. Plenty of space for stacking enough evidence.

He doesn't remember falling asleep in the corner.

But when he opens his eyes he finds the sunshine streaming through the dirty windows, Selina's bed left unmade and her backpack gone. Next to his laptop on the floor is a slip of torn paper and written in blue pen:

Couldn't do it, kitten. Be careful.

SK

And that was it.


End file.
